Jennifer Roberson - [Robin Hood 01] (69 page)

Clym swore. “By God, you
won’t!
Who are you to say so? Who are you to dare? Robbing three lords today doesn’t mean you’d dare again—”

“Tomorrow,” Robin said, “or the day after, if it is then. That depends on the sheriff.”

“The sheriff!” Adam Bell’s voice was sharp. “What has this to do with him?”

“I mean to rob him,” Robin said. “In Prince John’s name, he has stolen from each of you, from every villein in this village and all the other villages, and the Jews—”

“Jews!” Clym spat into the rushes.

“—and the Christians and the lords—”

“You can’t rob the sheriff.” Bell’s tone was deadly. “D’ye know what he’d do to us?”

“What he would do to us anyway, if he caught us,” Robin answered. “We will take pains to see he does not.”

“No.” Bell shook his head. “Not him.”

“Why not?” Robin asked softly. “Why not
him,
Adam?”

“Because he’s the sheriff, damn you! ’Tis one thing to rob a merchant—or a
lord!
—but I’ll not risk the sheriff. He lets us mostly alone.”

“ ‘Mostly alone’?” Robin echoed.

“Aye. We’ve enough trouble keeping clear of him—if we rob the sheriff, he’ll send every Norman in the castle after us.” Bell shook his head. “I’m not a fool. We can’t hide from that many.”

“In Sherwood? Of course you can. You
do.”

“No. Not me.” Bell cast a glance at Clym, Wat, and Cloudisley. “Nor any of mine, I’ll wager.”

Don’t do it,
Marian pleaded in the confines of her mind.
Oh Robin
—
don’t.

Clym’s voice was thick. “ ’Tis a trap,” he announced. “A trap—don’t you see? Ned Fuller himself taught you archery. You’re a bloody knight. A king
ransoms
you. D’ye think we’re blind? The sheriff
himself
has sent you!” He cast a wild glance at the others. “Don’t you see? He’s to lure us against the sheriff, and then we’ll all be taken.”

“No,” Robin said.

Adam Bell nodded. “He’s not known for his wits, but Clym may have grasped the truth. You are all of those things, Sir Robin of Locksley. And perhaps a lapdog, too, serving Norman lords and sheriffs—”

“No.” In rush- and firelight, Robin’s eyes were black. “I am no friend to Normans.”

Wat laughed. “And why not? Enough English lords line their coffers with Norman gold. Why not you?”

Robin looked at Marian. In his face she saw contempt, but none if it was for them.
For himself
—And she knew what he meant to do. “No,” she blurted, though only Tuck heard.

Deftly Robin undid the sword-belt and let the sheathed weapon drop. Then the plain leather belt with meat-knife attached. He stripped off his tunic, shook hair forward over his shoulders, and turned his back to them all.

Marian bit into her lip. Humiliation bathed her, that he would show so much to men who could not understand; who would revile him for it. He was
hers
now, by his own volition; what hurt him also hurt her. She understood what he intended, and why, but knowledge did not mitigate the intensity of her emotion.
Give them no opportunity---
Because they would laugh, or jest, or revile.

On fair skin, old weals were livid. In stark, diagonal relief—purple on white—they cut his back into sections like a newly plowed field, with furrows of clean flesh between the heavy ridges.

Tuck’s voice was ragged as he began to whisper a prayer. Marian’s tears were silent.

Robin turned again. “Crusaders,” he said. “Normans.”

“No!” Clym declared.

“Normans,” Robin repeated. “Because the fair-haired Saxon dog dared to usurp the place they believed was
their
right: at the side of the Lionheart. And some said, in his bed.” His face was expressionless. “The king had sailed for home. I was ill after harsh captivity. I was left behind to recover. A few of them thought it amusing to play physician to the patient... if he died, what was the loss? The Saracens had weakened him—who was to know the difference?” His smile was thin and edged. “In the name of
any
god, I have no love for Normans.”

 

Alan sat in the shadows and let the others drink. For him, that was finished; he knew a stronger lure than the mists induced by ale. His Muse was a jealous woman.

He had thought to sing earlier, to command them with his gift, but they were none of them interested in a minstrel’s songs. They argued among themselves over whether it was wise to rob the sheriff.

It mattered little to Alan. He was lost already, trapped by the promise of more verses. Adam Bell’s time was done. He had showed himself small-minded and unambitious, a thief merely to live, which, Alan believed, was understandable on one hand, but on the other surpassingly tedious. Hand-to-mouth existence was not the stuff of legend.

He laughed. Legend stood before him. Legend spoke of kings and oaths, of Crusade and captivity, of wrongs done to poorer men in the name of richer princes.

Legend’s name was Robin.

Alan shivered. The Muse had cold fingers. “Robin,” he whispered. “Robin in the wood. Robin in the hood.”

He laughed to himself. He saw legend walk to the woman—
I could not have asked for a better one!
—and put out his hand for hers, then guide her into shadow beyond the blackened door leading into the temperate night.

A verse suggested itself:

Alan of the Dales sighed complete contentment. All of it lay before him. He need only find verse and music.

In the thickets and trees behind the hall, Robin made a bed of piled mantles. More promising, Marian reflected, than the bed of boughs and leaves he had made for her before.

She watched as he moved, marking lithe grace and concise purpose, the single-mindedness of a man not so much commanded by need as by preference. He was more reserved than in the oratory, where he had been unmanned by self-control left too long in command, then made man again in her body; less fierce than in the bed beneath the roof of his father’s castle. This was
Robin:
the man he had made himself to answer what he interpreted as the need of a realm for her king.

She loved him no less for it. She thought she loved him more.

In the distance, a dog barked. In darkness, rush-lights glimmered. Tuck remained with the others in Locksley Hall, while the villeins of the village blew out wan lamps to sleep. The moon stood high overhead, lingering on hair and hands as Robin settled the makeshift bedding. He had left off sword and knife.

Now,
she told herself.
Before he lures me from my senses.
“When do you leave?” she asked quietly.

He was wary. “I will not be dissuaded, Marian.”

“I know that, Robin. It’s in your eyes, your mouth; in every line and motion of your body.” She swallowed tightly. “You have remade me. I am two women now: the one who wants you to remain here safe from danger, regardless of provocation... and the woman who would detest you for doing precisely that, because you are made for more.” She smiled to see his expression; wariness was replaced by muted puzzlement. “I know you mean to go. I want to know
when,
so I may go with you.”

He knelt at the edge of the bedding, stilled by her words. His face was a mask of hollows, blackened by the darkness where the moon could not touch. “I can’t let you come with me.”

It was not unexpected. Calmly, she refuted. “You can’t deny me,” she pointed out. “We owe nothing to one another save what we choose to give. There is no question of obedience, or the right of a wedded husband to command his wife in all things... there is only what you want, and what I want; we will make the best of that.”

He shook his head. “What I want is for you to remain here.”

“And what
I
want is to come.” Marian smiled. “I don’t mean to turn thief, Robin... I only mean I weary of waiting here for you. You have no idea how taxing such duty is; men don’t.” She shrugged, dissipating the sting because it wasn’t his fault, and she meant to point out truths, not weaknesses. She felt there was a difference. “Men go, and men
do;
women wait. Women wait, and worry—”

As a man, he answered, “There is no need to worry.”

She pointed to the moon. “Tell it not to rise.”

He sighed. “Marian—”

“I have no intention of robbing the sheriff,” she said dryly. “I mean only to accompany you, to be close enough to
know
instead of left behind to imagine.”

His hands were still on his knees as he knelt beside the bedding. Deliberately he said, “I value you too much.”

She laughed. “Value? An interesting word.” Marian knelt down also, so that the bedding of piled mantles formed an acre of cloth between them.
So far yet to cross.
“I value
you.
I would sooner see you killed in front of me than to wait, wondering, for someone to bring me the news. And who would, here? The sheriff? Your father? Adam Bell?” Marian shook her head. “I will dress myself in the colors of the forest, and hide myself nearby.”

“I value you,” he repeated. “If you came,
I
would be left to wonder what might become of you. Do you want my attention diminished? Do you want my concentration divided? It would be. I would be but half a man facing the sheriff’s Normans, because I could not forget that you were there, too.” His voice was soft. “You would be the death of me.”

She struggled with self-control, wanting to show him nothing of mounting desperation. “Who suffers more, then? The woman, here, waiting? Or the man there, fighting?”

“Dependent upon the results,” Robin said gravely, “the man might suffer more in the wounds bestowed upon him.” He moved then, reaching out to her with an outstretched hand. “I know, Marian... as much as a man can; as much as
I
can. But I saw women killed at Acre, and I killed women”—his voice was stark and tight—“and I refuse to risk you. Stay here at Locksley. Stay here where you are safe, so I may come back to you. ”

She had lost, and knew it. She was her mother reborn, and every woman before and since who had lived to send a man into a danger that he would not share with her.

Not fair,
she thought bitterly.
In the name of preservation, men deny us the chance to live.

But her hand reached out to his, fingers touching, then locking, and she knew the best she could hope for was to take what he gave her now, in the shadows beneath the moon.

 

At Nottingham, just after dawn, deLacey saw off the Lords of Alnwick, Hereford, and Essex, then summoned Archaumbault into the bailey as the men and lackeys rode out. “Well?”

The castellan shook his head. “There were no traces, my lord. I do not doubt there was such a man, but our usual sources know nothing. There are two facts only: he wore a hood, and his name was Robin. The hood is of no moment—how many men
desire
to be recognized as they rob passersby?—and the name means nothing also. I have sent men into the city to learn what there is to learn, but until we know more there is little we can do.”

The sheriff grunted. “So I thought. He vanishes into Sherwood like all of the others.” He sighed. “It is time we undertook a thorough housecleaning—but today I haven’t the time.” He glanced past Archaumbault to the gatehouse, making certain the lords were gone. “Extra men, then, for the journey to Lincoln.”

“Today, my lord?”

“Why not? Why give Hooded Robin more time to plan for us?”

Archaumbault was skeptical. “No thief alive would dare to attack a full complement of Normans.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps the precautions are a waste of time.” He smiled coolly. “But it is my time to waste—and yours is subordinate to mine.”

 

Not long after dawn, they stirred. They ate a little, drank more, gathered bows and quivers. Then went out into the day, where Robin waited for them.

Adam Bell shook his head. “You know my reasons,” he said. “Good reasons all ... I intend to abide by them.”

Robin nodded. It was a bright, unadorned morning, hinting at early summer. “Do as you will,” he said.

They had divided themselves already: Bell’s men in a knot; Marian and Tuck on the bench beside the door; the others strewn loosely in front of the hall like a broken necklace, divulging no loyalties.

“You’re a fool,” Bell told him. “A brave man, but a fool. Why steal for a king when there is yourself to please?”

“I will please myself when the king is home again.” Robin wore sword and meat-knife, as well as a full quiver. The bow was in his hand.

Clym laughed harshly. “You stood off the lords by yourself. You’ll not stand off the sheriff.”

“He won’t be alone,” rasped Little John.

Cloudisley glanced at him. “You, giant?”

Little John’s face reddened. “Aye.”

Clym scoffed. “What of the sheep you love so well. D’ye desert
them,
then?”

“There’s my cousin for the sheep,” Little John answered. “Tom’ll tend them well enough.” Red hair and beard blazed in the sun. “ ’Twasn’t my choice, now, was it? But I was there when Scarlet escaped, and the sheriff saw me. I was there when the soldiers died, and the Norman saw me. What chance have I?” No one offered an answer. The giant nodded. “You’ve made an outlaw of me—if I’m to live the name, I may as well do it for a reason I can stomach.” He jerked his bearded jaw toward Robin. “He says we’ll bring home the king.”

“King’s man,” Clym jeered. “King’s
fool,
more like.”

“The giant, and the boy.” Bell shook his head. “Bad odds for attacking the sheriff.”

Alan spoke clearly, as only a minstrel can.
“And
me.” He grinned as they turned to stare. “The sheriff has a bounty on my tongue—and perhaps something more, now.” A vulgar gesture prompted faint smiles. “I’ll fill our victims’ ears with such noise they’ll never hear us coming.”

Amusement faded. Wat One-Hand shook his head. “I’ve listened. But I’m with Adam. ’Tis safer to avoid the sheriff.”

Clym looked at Scarlet.
“You’ll
not stay.”

Will Scarlet’s bruises were tinted yellow-green in a dark, stubbled face. He stared hard at Robin from near-black eyes fierce and predatory as a raptor’s. “Meggie,” he rasped, and cast a hard glance at Clym.
“Normans.
That’s what I get of this.”

“So.” Adam Bell nodded. “You’ve got the giant, the boy, the minstrel, and Will Scarlet. And a fat priest—and a woman.” He grinned faint contempt. “A right merry band, I’d say.”

Clym spat disparagement. “Robin in the hood.”

Much glared fiercely. “Robin
’ood,”
he slurred.

“Robin dead, more like.” Adam Bell shook his head. “ ’Tis yours to do, Robin.” He hitched a shoulder to the others and started on his way, heading back into the wood. With him went Clym of the Clough, William of Cloudisley, and Wat One-Hand.

Robin sighed inwardly as he glanced to the others.
A right merry band, indeed.

“Robin Hood,” Much declared, making an end to it.

 

DeLacey called de la Barre to his private solar. He sat as the other stood. “Tonight,” he said clearly. “You will take the others with you, and you will do as I have said. I will be in Lincoln, so as not to be linked with this. You and the others will put off your mail and helms, and dress as peasants. I do not wish to forewarn the woman.”

De la Barre nodded. “I understand, my lord. But—if the earl’s son is with her?”

“The earl will see to it his son is not present. You may act without hindrance.”

“Yes, my lord.” De la Barre risked a smile. “When you return from Lincoln the witch will be waiting.”

“And perhaps the Abbot of Croxden.” DeLacey sipped wine. “A convenience not to be ignored.”

 

The earl’s messenger arrived at Locksley Hall well before midday, but after Bell and his men had left. Robin, squatting in the dirt with the others to talk of plans, saw him, knew him, saw the others looking at him, though they could not know who he was, and took the man inside to listen in privacy. He was grateful the young man had worn unremarkable clothing so as to give nothing away; it would not do
yet,
Robin thought, to tell the others another thing they could not—or
would
not—comprehend: that the Earl of Huntington’s son stooped to banditry. Later, perhaps, when the thing was done; but he could not count forever on the minstrel’s silence.

Marian was in the hall seeing to baking bread, but from her Robin hid nothing. He simply put out his hand, waited for her to take it, then looked at the messenger.

The Huntington man was Thomas: young, sandy-haired, diffident. He spoke almost as if reciting the words. “You are asked to come home, my lord. For tonight, at least. The earl desires to speak with you.”

Robin felt Marian’s hand stiffen in his. “And the lady?”

Thomas reddened. “No, my lord.” He flicked a glance at Marian, then looked away quickly. “I’m sorry, my lord... the earl is most anxious to speak with you in private. It is a personal matter.”

Robin sliced a little more deeply. “Does it concern the Lady Marian?”

Thomas’s face grew brighter. “My lord, I beg you—please ... the earl confides nothing in me. He sent me to tell you, no more. He said”—he moistened dry lips—“he said it has to do with your mother.”

It astonished Robin completely. “My mother!”

Marian squeezed his hand. “Go,” she said. “Go to Huntington. If there is peace to be made, swallow your pride and go.”

He considered it. His father had volunteered nothing of his mother before, hiding much behind the unyielding wall of cold impersonality that refused every inquiry. No matter how often his son had asked.
Not now. Not tonight. Not even for my mother.
“No,” Robin said finally.

The red in Thomas’s face was replaced by pallor and something akin to desperation. “My lord, I was charged—he said you must come!”

Still he thinks to rule my world with this order and that.
Robin smiled grimly. “Tell him I cannot. You need give him no reason—merely say to the earl that I confide nothing in you.”

Thomas had wit enough to recognize the irony in the reference. He nodded, then inclined his head. “As you wish, my lord.”

“Let this wait,” Marian said when they were alone. “You don’t know when the sheriff intends to send the money—it could be a week from now. There is time to see your father.”

“It may not wait even an hour,” he said grimly. “If the sheriff sends the shipment today, there is no time to waste.”

“Robin.” She clung more tightly as he made to withdraw his hand. “Do not be so obstinate. You are very like him in that.”

It stung, but he had no time to explain all to her. “He will not wait, Marian. John wants his money as soon as possible, while I—”

“—want it for Richard, I
know;
you have made it abundantly clear. But do you even know which way they will go? Or where?”

He did. “By the shortest route, to Lincoln. That is where John is.” He let go of her hand and touched her cheek gently. “I do not guess, Marian. I know because I was sent for. John summons me to Lincoln to speak of his bastard daughter.”

It shocked her.
“That
again!”

“I have no doubt that is what my father desires to speak with me about. He uses my mother as bait.” He bent and kissed her lingeringly, then took his hands from her as if afraid he would lose himself. “I must go, Marian. The others are ready—it is time we took the forest tracks to the other side of Nottingham.”