Jennifer Roberson - [Robin Hood 01] (55 page)

Ralph pointed. “The steps are there, my lord.”

He looked. So they were: a diagonal slash rising from cobbles to sentry-walk set obliquely from the gate. Grimly he nodded, then crossed the bailey to the steps.

He reached the sentry-walk and paused a moment, reassembling wits and courtesy, for to confront his father in anger in front of witnesses would shatter his intentions—and destroy the possibility of their success—before he had the chance to explain anything to the earl.

In war, it was easier. There was neither the time nor inclination for so much diplomacy—one killed, or one
was
killed.

He walked to the four men quietly, trying to assess the earl’s temper. He knew the other men slightly. He knew their proper titles. He knew without a doubt that none of them had come merely to bid him welcome home.

Robin halted as he reached them and inclined his head. “My lords.” And lastly to his father, with a cool correctness that did not in any way reflect what he was thinking, “My lord Earl.”

“Robert!” It was de Vesci, very bluff, striding forward to clasp his shoulder. “What great news it was, that you had escaped the clutches of the Saracen to come home again to England!”

“Indeed,” de Mandeville agreed more quietly, “and a hero to boot.”

“Our liege honored me greatly.” They were all Richard’s men, he knew. De Mandeville, the Earl of Essex and Justiciar of England, had taken part in Richard’s coronation. “My lord father, perhaps I would do well to excuse myself. Obviously this meeting is of great significance, and would do better with my absence.”

“No, no.” De Vesci again. “It involves you, Robert.”

Bohun nodded. “And the Count of Mortain.”

Robin looked at each of them a very long moment. Rising wind ruffled their hair and lifted the corners of the mantles thrown over their shoulders. Four men: four extremely wealthy and influential lords. They could plot the course of England.

Which no doubt is what they do.
He saw no reason to prevaricate; he had spent too much of his life doing so. Robin turned to his father. “Is this treason, my lord?”

Rather than being appalled by the audacity, the earl smiled. “The man we seek to displace is not the king, Robert ... but the man who wants to be king. There is something of a difference.”

“So.” It was worse than he’d feared. Robin drew in a slow breath, then released it. “And you want me to join you.” He nodded. “Perhaps Ralph was right. Perhaps you do consider me a man at last—or else still merely a boy who can be pushed this way and that.”

“Robert!” The earl’s color deepened.

Robin glanced briefly at the others and noted their consternation. Had they counted him in already? Did they fear he might betray them? “Forgive me, my lords,” he said smoothly. “War does hone a tongue into curtness. If I speak too plainly, it is because the king desired it.” He evoked Richard purposely; it would make these men think. “Did my father promise me to you? Did he swear to my willingness?” Their silence and exchanged glances was confirmation. Robin nodded, glancing sidelong at his father. “So. What is it I am to be? A figurehead hero? The king’s sworn knight? A man to hail to others whose allegiance may flag?”

The earl was coldly furious. “Don’t you see? We do this for England! Look at Geoffrey de Mandeville, of one of the oldest and finest families in all of Britain—do you think
he
would countenance this if there were no reason for it?”

“Perhaps not,” Robin conceded. “Perhaps I misjudge the cause; I have been too long away.” He swept each of them with a glance, then turned to his father. “What do you want me for?”

The earl’s tone was inflexible. “To misdirect John.”

“How?”

“By marrying his daughter.”

Oddly, Robin felt no anger. It was very clear to him: this was the easiest and most effective of ways. It was done all the time, regardless of the ages of those deemed marriageable, regardless of their wishes. They were simply chattel to be used to the benefit of whatever design the parents deemed most valuable.

He was in that moment completely detached, looking at the problem as his father undoubtedly did, weighing possibilities and other repercussions.
There is no other way. This solves everything.

Robin smiled grimly, though he offered no reply. The words on his tongue were neither proper nor flattering, but packed with the passion of a man who saw his future reshaped by the hands of another who did not understand him.

De Vesci stirred, reaching up to pull back into place a wind-tangled mantle. “She has been offered, has she not? Joanna?”

The breeze lifted hair away from Robin’s face, baring the scar at his hairline. He saw their eyes upon it; saw them consider it, recalling where he had been, what he had done, and with whom he had been as he did it. To them he was, unexpectedly, Sir Robert of Locksley, knighted by the king.

Robin’s detachment abruptly shattered. He felt cold,
too
cold; his jaw moved stiffly. He realized that what he felt was anger, a deep abiding anger that could, if it took flame, blister all of them. “Forgive me. This is a new thought.” He found the mask within and slipped it on again. It was easy. It was familiar. It was immensely comfortable.

“Of course it is,” de Vesci said, laughing. “It is not every day a man is faced with the possibility of marrying into royalty!”

Robin favored him with a steadfast gaze. “Indeed.”

“Misdirection,” the earl said tightly. “If you wed his daughter, John will think us fairly caught, victims of his plotting.”

“But you will take care to insure that he is a victim of
yours. ”

Geoffrey de Mandeville’s eyes narrowed. He was not a fool, Robin knew; de Vesci might be too quick to assume Huntington’s heir was on their side, but the Earl of Essex was not.

Henry Bohun stirred, leaning one hip against a merlon. “England is in a sorry state,” he said. “John is systematically raping our economy—”

“The king did much the same,” Robin interrupted. “Its cause was the Crusade, not personal greed, but the result is as much his responsibility as John’s.”

De Vesci glowered. “Do you support Softsword? After riding with his brother?”

“I do not support John.” He spoke with careful conciseness so they would not misunderstand. “I swore to serve the king, and I do wholeheartedly. What I question is the motivation.”

“You
have
been gone too long.” Robin knew that tone: his father was highly displeased. His son had dared to criticize him in front of his peers. “So long, in fact, you have absolutely no understanding of how things stand in England.”

That was true, but he could give them nothing. “I understand that England is indeed very poor. I also understand that she must be made poorer, if we are to buy back her king.”

“Damn
you!” The earl trembled with anger. “Do you question your father? Do you question your betters?”

“No,” he answered coolly. “Only your plans for me.”

De Vesci swore. “By God, you were quick enough to take the Crusader’s oath and ride off to the Holy Land! But now that we ask a simple thing of you—”

“Simple? To marry John’s daughter?” Robin shook his head. “It’s his ploy, my lords... why make it yours?”

“Because the only way you can beat John is to use his methods,” the earl snapped. “He is not a fool, Robert; don’t assume he has no resources. But if we appear to do as he wishes, we can use it for our own good.”

Robin shrugged. “If marrying one of your people to John’s bastard girl will help save England, then by all means do it. All I would ask is that you look to someone else for your sacrificial lamb.”

“Robert!” Huntington was nearly purple. “By God, boy—”

“My lords.” He turned to them. “My lords, I do apologize, but I have no doubt there are alternative plans. Until twelve days ago you could not even be certain I was alive;
until four
days ago no one even knew John planned to dangle this girl as bait.” He bowed with careful grace. “If you will excuse me ... I was ill overnight.” Before his father could mouth another protest, Robin turned on his heel and strode back down the sentry-walk to the stairs.

He is the same man he was when I left England... the same man he was when my mother died
—He shut it off abruptly as he descended stiffly. What had he expected? That his return from the dead would alter his father’s character? Only a fool would think so. Only a dreamer could. The Earl of Huntington had been shaped decades ago, long before he married a fey, ethereal woman utterly alien to his ken, before any of his children were born, before any of them died.
Save the last one: me.
He sighed heavily as his boot struck the cobbles of the bailey.
It will be more difficult than I thought.

 

Tuck was in the chapel praying when Walter opened the door. He heard the scrape of wood on stone and swung painfully on his knees, fearful of the message.

Walter’s face was taut. “He wants you,” he said. “It’s come, Brother Tuck.”

Tuck hung there a moment, unable even to breathe. And then the breath started again, filling up his chest, and he knew he could not give it all to God. He had been weak, and a fool, succumbing to a will much firmer than his own, as he always did. As he always had.

Tuck sighed heavily, admitting a thing he had no desire to acknowledge: that there were times when a man, with only the
assistance
of God, had to make his own decisions.

He nodded at Walter, wiping a trembling hand over his damp, fleshy face. Then he turned back briefly to the altar, crossed himself with crisp, deliberate precision, and climbed ponderously to his feet.

He wants you,
Walter had said.
It’s come, Brother Tuck.

He walked slowly and mechanically toward the narrow door.

Robin walked into the great hall of Huntington Castle and stopped deliberately in the center. Gravely he studied the immensity of masonry, the timber floor covered with rushes, the architectural advancement his father said were trusses, which held up the roof through the use of elaborate arched vaults instead of relying on columns; and indeed, the roof
did
stay up, rising above his head in seductive symmetry. Painted silks hung over walls, and the ornate musician’s gallery stretched from side to side like a walkway to heaven itself.

Lastly he looked at the dais, upon which he had stood with the earl to receive much of England in celebration of his return.

Robin smiled.
And Marian.

He recalled it very vividly: the moment she’d stopped before him to make her little speech. She had been to him then as all the others, merely a woman, until he allowed her beauty to register so strongly as to deny it absolutely, because he dared not let close a woman to a man as defiled as he; and then her name had trapped him utterly: Marian FitzWalter, the daughter to whom Sir Hugh had charged him to carry a special message.

His slow smile stretched his bruised face, then altered into a grin of quiet satisfaction. He nodded, thinking of Marian, and turned to make his way out of the hall to the chamber serving as his own. He was brought up short by an unexpected discomfort in his left boot: his newly returned purse had worked its way too low, rubbing annoyingly against his ankle.

Robin bent and dug fingers deep between leather and hosen, working until he caught the severed thongs and dragged the pouch free. He hefted it assessively. From the weight, Much had spent none of it.

Lionheart, the boy had said. And why not? German Henry desired to be paid for his hospitality before he would consider releasing his honored guest. What England had raised so far simply was not enough. Perhaps it was time everyone contributed their purses.

He raked the hall with a glance of contempt.
My father might well have made his castle smaller and given the balance to the ransom
—And then he checked the thought. He had little money of his own, and Abraham the Jew said the Locksley rents were already depleted; what then was left? What resources
did
he have to donate to the cause?

Laggardly, he remembered. “My mother ...” he murmured.
“Ya Allah,
I’d forgotten—”

He had resources yet: the casket of jewels she had willed upon her death to her only surviving child. She had meant it for his wife, but Robin had the feeling Marian wouldn’t mind.

He strode out of the hall at last. His mother’s jewels would do nicely. No doubt Abraham would give him a good price for them, and know how to send on the money.

 

DeLacey stood at an angle to Marian, shoulder turned obliquely. He glanced about casually as if to assess the ordering of his hall. In no way did he indicate the intensity of his anticipation as the moment drew nearer. He wanted to shout aloud exultantly, crying his jubilation, because to him it was as gratifying as carnal congress to witness a plan come together.

The sound of footsteps echoed sibilantly as the six-man guard came into the hall. From the corner of his eye he saw Marian turn her head to mark them, to watch in polite disinterest, believing them present merely to escort her home if she declared that her desire.

Tuck entered then, coming into candleglow out of dimness. His face was pale, but his gaze was clear and steady.

Good. He is prepared.
DeLacey gestured slightly, indicating where Tuck was to stand. He drew in a deep breath, released it very slowly.
Now.
He savored the slight turn, the idleness of his gaze, the controlled approach. He felt much like one of his falcons, preparing to fold his wings and stoop upon the prey.

DeLacey smiled disarmingly, watching the play of emotions in Marian’s face: curiosity, wariness, a subtle involuntary recoil. The bruises and scratches marring her beauty were still visible, but such disfigurements would fade. He would tend them himself.

He paused before her, deepened the warmth of his smile, then reached out smoothly and caught both her hands in his own. He did not permit her to withdraw them. “Marian,” he said tenderly, “you know very well your father would approve.”

In that instant, she understood. Vivid color stained her face. A flash in her eyes took him aback; not anger, as one might expect, but guilt. It was gone quickly, replaced fourfold by intense displeasure, but clearly there was more here than even he had anticipated.

Comprehension was abrupt. “By God—” he blurted, “he
did
want this—”

“No.” She tried again unsuccessfully to pull her hands free. “If he knew what you truly were, he would never countenance friendship, let alone a marriage.” She tugged ineffectually. “Let
go--”

DeLacey was stunned. “I see it now. I see it now very clearly... he told you this before he left, but
you
decided to deny me—”

Her eyes were fever-bright with anger. “He did no such thing—”

“Or else he sent word.” Shock was fading; his mind worked rapidly to assess the circumstances, to repair his broken approach. He understood now. “You must have known for some time what your father wanted ... and it is your foolish woman’s fancies that leads you to this folly—” “It isn’t folly to desire to make my own decision,” she declared. Then, furiously, “Will you let
go—?”

“Yes.” And he did, but only briefly, long enough for him to shift his grip to her arms, to spin her in place so the guards were at her back and Tuck stood before her. “Marian, this is Father Tuck. I admit I had intended to act wholly selfishly in this, merely to please my own interests, but now I see there is much more to it than that. Indeed, I see that this is necessary if only to please your father.” He nodded at Tuck. “Begin the ceremony.”

The monk stared at Marian as if transfixed. Perspiration stippled his upper lip. His mouth trembled minutely.

“Father,”
deLacey said meaningfully, “pray, begin the ceremony.”

Tuck looked at him. “No.”

DeLacey was astounded. “By God—you
will—”

“By God, I will not.” Tuck smiled nervously at Marian. “Be at ease, lady—I am monk, not priest. Nothing here is binding.”

Marian tore free. DeLacey looked only at Tuck. “Fool,” he said softly. “O corpulent, fatuous fool, who once was a monk but shall end his days as nothing.”

Tuck’s eyes filled with tears, but his gaze held steady. “Indeed,” he said unevenly. “I should have refused you before.”

DeLacey turned to the liveried guard. “Escort the Lady Marian to private chambers, and leave one of your number outside the door at all times.” He cast her a pitying glance. “Your behavior merely proves that you require a man’s guidance. Your father would be appalled.”

Marian was furious. “By
your
behavior, yes—”

“Take her,” he told the guard. “Lodge her most comfortably.” He waved fingers in Tuck’s direction, as if flicking off a distasteful substance. “Go,” he said softly. “Be assured Abbot Martin will be informed.”

A glint of rebellion flashed briefly in the monk’s bovine eyes. “Have you anyone here who can
write?”

DeLacey laughed. “There is always Gisbourne. There will always
be
a Gisbourne.”

 

The earl paused silently in the open doorway, watching his son. That Robert was as yet unaware of his presence was obvious, or surely he would have instantly stopped the haphazard excavation of his trunks. Lids were raised on several, leaning against brick walls; contents spilled over the sides and out onto the floor; a pile of personal items was left in the center of the bed, heaped in disarray.

The untidiness offended the earl.
Did the boy learn nothing of neatness while on Crusade?

“Robert.” His lips thinned; he had come to speak of something else, but this was a beginning. It had never been easy to talk with his son as a boy; it was less easy now. “What are you doing?”

Startled, Robert stopped digging at once and jerked his head upright, swinging on his knees to stare blankly at his father. The earl marked all over again the bruises on his son’s face, and the alteration of his expression from annoyed concentration to a rigid, frozen mask in which only the eyes were alive.

“Looking for something,” Robert answered. Then, with infinite clarity, “Something of mine is missing.”

“Nothing is missing,” the earl retorted, irritated by the disarray that did not appear to disturb his son. “All was moved here from Huntington Hall. If you have lost something, it is due more to your habitual sloppiness than any inefficiency on the part of the servants.”

Robert cast the open trunks a shuttered glance, and spared another for the pile of clothing in the center of his bed. Then his gaze returned to his father. “My mother’s jewels are missing.”

The earl blinked. He had not thought of the jewels in some time, nor the woman who had worn them. “Certainly not,” he said crisply. “Do not lay blame where none is due; it is not appropriate behavior for men of rank.” A gentle rebuke only. “I disposed of the jewels some time ago. Two years, in fact.”

“Disposed
—” Robert blanched very pale. The scar along his jaw stood out plainly. “By what right did you do that?”

The earl impatiently reminded his son of the ordering of their lives. “By the right of a husband, to whom all possessions pass upon the marriage sacrament.”

Robert’s hands gripped the trunk tightly. “She left her jewelry to me, to be bestowed upon the woman
I
marry.”

Huntington permitted himself the luxury of faint contempt in order to make a point. “Do you believe Prince John will not provide better for his daughter than a handful of trumpery jewels?”

For a long moment Robert did not respond. Then he said in a deadly tone, “They were
hers.”
The bruises showed uglier against the pallor of anger. “When she died, they became mine; she told me so, my lord. She told me before she died.”

Probably she had; it was very like her to impetuously give away something that belonged to her husband. “She was always too tender-hearted.” The earl shook his head, smoothing the drape of his robe. “What does it matter, Robert? If you require money, you need only ask.”

“Very well.” The tone was dry. “Give me the loan of one hundred thousand marks.”

“One hundred thousand!” The earl nearly gaped, but recovered himself in time to gaze sternly at his recalcitrant heir. “What is this babble, Robert? Have you gone mad?”

“Not for me, my lord. To buy back the King of England.”

It was utterly preposterous.
Did the boy learn
nothing at all
of reality while in the Holy Land?
“A flight of fancy, Robert,” he said heavily, intending to squash it flat. “Do you think I have given nothing toward the ransom? Do you think the Huntington coffers are bottomless?”

“Indeed, no. That is obvious, if you are moved to sell off what is not yours.” Robert slammed down the trunk lid and got to his feet. “My lord, if you will excuse me—it will take some time to put order to my chamber.”

The dismissal was obvious.
He’s learned that of me, at least,
the earl reflected. “Robert, the Jews are not always the most patient of men—”

“So you gave them my mother’s jewels as partial payment.”

He had permitted the boy much latitude since his return.
It is time Robert recalls who the master is.
“I do as I see fit, with no seed of my loins rearing up to say me nay.”

The contempt was brief, but plain. “No, my lord.”

Anger flared dully within Huntington’s narrow chest. “By God—do you question me yet? What I do, I do for England!”

“If your quarrel is with Prince John, would it not be more prudent to spend money on the king’s return instead of on useless symbols?” Robert gestured with a hand. “The cost of this castle might have paid more than half the ransom.”

The earl was truly annoyed. “This castle was begun before Richard was captured,” he retorted. “It was begun before you left on Crusade, which you well know. These things take time.”

Robert’s face was tense. “Marrying me to John’s bastard will not aid England.”

“Is
that
it?” The earl’s laugh was harsh. “Are we to that? By God, Robert, you are but a mummer in this play.” He shook his head and sighed. “You assume the worst and respond without considering all the facts.”

“My lord—”

“If John believes you the best match for his bastard, we would be a fool to say him nay. There is every chance the king may not return, leaving his brother to rule in his stead—”

“Why do you say the king may not return?”

“Because, given the opportunity—which he will concoct himself!—John will buy Henry’s willingness to keep King Richard imprisoned.” The earl was truly exasperated.
How can a son of my loins be so naive?
“By
God,
Robert—use your wits... John is a ruthless, ambitious man who wants to rule England! He will destroy whomever he must to win the throne, but he knows very well that while Richard lives he cannot... and since the king is now married, John must move very quickly to usurp the throne before an heir is born. It should be no surprise to you that he seeks to ingratiate himself with the finest families in England—he
needs
us! If enough of us moved to thwart him, we could bring him down.”

“Then it is a true conspiracy.”

“John would see it as such. Richard would applaud it; it is designed to keep his realm whole.” The earl shook his head. “Much has happened while you were gone.”

“Indeed, so it would seem.” Bleakness replaced Robert’s anger. “England is in greater danger than you believe. If there is no male heir, Richard will have to leave England to his brother.”