Mark of the Black Arrow (29 page)

“Not yet, but I’m working on it,” Will said. “It is difficult. The prince trusts me more and more, but the Sheriff trusts no one. He’s strange, like no man I’ve ever encountered.”

“I’m not sure he is even a man,” Marian said.

No one spoke for a long moment.

“Whatever he is, he must be stopped. They both must,” the cardinal said.

“The people are crying out for mercy, but they are finding none,” Alan said. “I have gone many places in the last few days. Women weep and men curse. They are overburdened with the taxes, and many have lost the ability to feed their families.”

“The prince gloats over similar reports, and proclaims that this is just the beginning,” Will offered. “Once he has finished this round, he will be looking for more.”

“The tax collectors must be stopped,” Marian said. “It is too much on the families.”

“Yet the collectors are also men of this community,” the cardinal said. “Killing them is not the way.”

“Then the money must be returned to the people somehow.”

“The nobles also suffer under this new tax, and cannot help the people,” Will said. “They are lucky to feed those in their immediate households. More poor will go hungry, then die, if not helped this winter. And the prince still holds the youngest children of the Houses as hostages.” He shook his head. “You’ll not have support from them unless a total victory can be had.”

“If the money the prince is collecting isn’t being spent, perhaps there is a way to recover some of it.” Friar Tuck thought of the bishop looting the monastery’s treasures. “Someone has to steal it back.”

Alan leaned forward before he spoke. “No one would dare be so bold,” he said. “Any man caught doing so would be hunted down and executed.”

“His family, as well, to set an example,” Will added, his face paler than it had been a moment before. “It would be public, and gruesome. That is how this prince operates. No half measures. That’s why he killed two of the nobles and hanged their families in public.”

Around the room each person made the sign of the cross—all except Alan, who simply bowed his head for a moment.

“What we need is a man who is willing to stand up to the prince, perhaps one who has no family, so he has no one to lose,” Francis said.

“Everyone has someone to lose,” Marian argued. “If not direct family, then dear friends, associates. My own fear—of what he would do to some of the servants—has more than once stopped me from acting.”

“And holy men, though long since separated from any family with whom they might have been born, still have brothers of the cloth,” Will pointed out.

“Even if we could find a man with nothing to lose, he would have to be willing to risk his own life, to lay it down for the people. That is much to ask of anyone, especially one with no attachments,” Marian said. “It is easier to risk your life for those you love than for strangers.”

“Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friend,” Tuck said.

“We must also remember,” Francis said, “that this is more than a simple one-time theft of gold.”

“It’s true,” Will agreed. “The prince will retaliate, take it out on the people, squeeze them harder.”

“What we need is someone who can fight back against every injustice and rally the people to his side, someone who can become a symbol for which others are willing to fight,” Francis suggested. “Perhaps someone we could even put on the throne, if we managed to remove John.” He gazed pointedly at Marian, and she shook her head.

“I will do everything I can to help, but I can’t be the public face, the one people rally around,” she said. “Those dearest to me would pay the price. Besides, too many of the people are dismissive of me because I’m a woman. I wouldn’t be able to rally as many as would be needed.”

“Then I’m the logical choice,” Alan said.

All eyes turned toward him.

“Based on what you are saying,” he continued. “I have no family, no home even. Everything I own I carry on my person.”

“You have friends,” Marian protested.

“I do, and most of them are in this room. I don’t think anyone else actually knows
who
I’d count as a friend. I’m the one who, on the surface of it all, has nothing to lose.”

“It’s true that you are well-liked, and you have the gift of persuasion in your voice. When you sing you can put people into a trance, change their emotions, rally them to a cause,” Francis said thoughtfully.

“Forgive me,” Will said, “but Alan is no warrior.”

“Who said we needed a warrior?” Francis asked.

“As much as Alan is a logical choice, I’m not sure he is the
right
choice,” Marian offered. “Yes, he is beloved, and yes, he can hold sway over people while he sings, but he cannot be singing for everyone all the time. And since he has no home, people will know there is always a possibility that he could leave, if things became too difficult.”

“It’s the truth,” Tuck said. “He has no ties to this place, nothing that would convince others that he might be compelled to stay.” He looked sideways at his friend. The bard frowned harshly, but the friar kept talking. “I believe he is of more use if no one knows that he opposes the prince. Indeed, the fact that he has no home is crucial. He could go places as needed, without raising suspicion. He is best used as he is—the bearer of news, the teller of tales.”

“I agree, Alan,” Marian said. “You have far more value there. Because of your station, no door is closed to you.”

Alan nodded, and Tuck could see that he was relieved. It spoke to his character, though, that he had at least made the offer.

“As a spiritual leader I would also be a logical choice,” the cardinal said. “Many would heed my words.”

“And many monks would die in instant retaliation,” Will countered. “The truth is, none of us here can be the symbol we need. We’d risk too much with capture. Each of us has a part of what is needed, yet none of us has the whole.”

Suddenly Friar Tuck smiled. A snatch of a song came to him—a song he’d heard Alan sing once before.

“Then the answer is simple,” he said. “We should strive to not be captured.”

“Even if we are not captured, we will be recognized,” Will protested. “Perhaps not you, but everyone knows the face of the bard, the cardinal, and the princess.”

Friar Tuck shook his head, his grin broadening.

“When I came in here, I could not tell who either of you were, yet I’ve known you for many years.” He shrugged and leaned back. “We need a champion, the people need a symbol. Who knows what kind of person lurks beneath a hood? It could be anyone. Maybe even someone of legend…”

There was a moment of silence as they all let it sink in.

Marian’s eyes glittered in the low light.

A moment later Will began to nod.

“It might work,” the cardinal said, “with God’s help.”

“If we do this correctly, we could all participate, yet make it seem as if every theft has been the work of one man,” Marian offered. “A man who is not
any
of us. Who doesn’t exist. Like the old children’s stories.” She turned to Alan-a-Dale. “Surely you know the ones to which I am referring?”

The bard nodded. “For many generations, there have been stories of a hooded bandit in the heart of Sherwood. It’s part of the reason people believe the great wood to be full of haints and fey.”

“Yes! Exactly,” she said, her voice rising. “We could work together to bring back the Hood. Frequently the tax brigade uses the King’s Road that runs through Sherwood. We can strike swiftly, and use the forest as a way to escape.” Marian shifted on her stool, her eyes wide with excitement. “We will be holy terrors.”

Suddenly the cardinal put his hand flat on the table with a smack, causing them all to jump. He glared at her fiercely.

“We are grateful for your counsel, Marian,” he said, “but it is too dangerous for you to participate in this activity.”

Marian stopped moving, jolted back to the here and now.

Will Scarlet slid his stool back.

“Dangerous?” Marian’s voice was low, her words measured. “No more dangerous for me than for the rest of you.” Her hand rose as if she tried to pull in the intensity of her emotions. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Holiness, but when was the last time you held a sword? Alan is unaccustomed to them, as well, and Will is the same size I am. I was trained to fight by Richard the Lionheart himself. At this table, I have the best chance of survival in a conflict.”

“The lady has a point,” Friar Tuck said.

“And I have just as much to lose as anyone else,” she continued. “Perhaps more.”

“Will they miss you at the castle?” Francis asked. “How will you explain your absence?”

She shook her head. “John seeks neither my counsel nor my company, and I can be cautious.” She leaned in, and peered from each man to the next. “You will not leave me out of this.”

There was a long silence, which Friar Tuck broke.

“In truth, we could try to keep you safe behind the castle walls, but that seems like locking you in a box with two serpents just to keep you from skinning your knee,” he said. “Soon every man, woman, and child in this country will be in peril, if we don’t act against the prince and his mad dog of a servant.”

“It is agreed then,” the cardinal said. “The five of us shall don the hood, and take back what belongs to the people. I shall set some monks to sew five sets of matching clothes for us… discreetly, of course.”

“I shall bring two sets to the castle when next I come,” Alan said, nodding to Will and Marian.

“Before many days have passed, the hooded thief shall make himself known,” the cardinal said. “Until then, keep watch, and send word if there’s anything we need to know.”

Will and Marian both nodded. Then the five of them bowed their heads while the cardinal said a prayer.

T
he thin fingers that clamped his forearm had a strength that had been earned by countless hours of moving over metal strings, committing to physical memory the notes of melodies that carried the history and law of an entire people.

Friar Tuck looked down at them, then back up to his friend.

“Hold a moment.” The minstrel did not let go. “Please.”

He nodded and moved to stand by the tall man as the others filed out of the room. At the doorway the cardinal turned, a queer look on his face. Without a word he smiled, made the sign of the cross toward them, and shut the door as he left.

The air in the room grew still.

“Do you think…?” Alan-a-Dale began.

Friar Tuck raised a wedge of a hand, silencing him. He held it there, listening for any indication that the cardinal had stayed by the door. Silence wrapped its arms around them. Satisfied after a long moment the priest lowered his hand.

“Now we may continue.” He smiled up at Alan. “You kept me here for a reason.”

“I did.” Alan removed the hand, moving it up to run it through his own thick, sandy locks. “Two of them, actually. I’ve discovered in visiting several homes that the taxpayers aren’t just collecting taxes. They’re looking for something—a specific object. A book.”

Friar Tuck crossed himself. “The bishop was looking for a book, as well, in the library here at the monastery.”

“Are you pondering what I’m pondering?” Alan asked.

Tuck crossed himself again. “I do not know,” he said, and there was doubt in his voice. “It seems more than just coincidence.”

“To me as well. Whatever is in that book, I think the prince wants it.”

“Which means he cannot have it.” He thought for a long moment, and then added, “I should take a look, and see if I can figure out what it is he wants. That might help reveal some of his plans.”

“Very true,” Alan said. “Now, as to the second thing, we need to discuss what just occurred here.”

“Oh.” Wide shoulders slumped under brown wool. “That.” He shrugged. “Well, it seems as if we’ve just started a revolution.”

“Yet it seems like the rantings of fools and idiots,” the bard said. “We are all doomed if we continue past the discussions of this evening.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Heat rushed through Tuck, the skin around his tonsure blasting bright red.

“Listen to me, my friend,” Alan said, in a calming voice. “This is not a revolution. Tonight was just five angry fools, planning their own deaths. There is no chance that we can succeed.”

Friar Tuck sputtered. “I thought I’d seen all the sides of you, Alan-A-Dale. I’ve never before seen a cowardly one.”

“You still haven’t, my fat friar.” The bard drew himself up to his full height, stretching his frame the way he did when addressing a large crowd. The lamplight in the room threw his shadow against the wall, splattering it over the bricks. “Put away your anger and listen to me. Whatever you find in the book, we should not—
cannot
—use magic to fight this foe.”

“On that we are agreed. Magic always comes with a cost. I have discussed that on more than one occasion with Cardinal Francis. I fear the price would be far too high. We are speaking of very powerful magic, after all.”

“At least we are in agreement on that,” Alan said. “Now hear the rest of what I have to say.”

Friar Tuck crossed his arms and fell silent, yet he still glowered. Alan reached out, not touching him, just letting his long, delicate hands hover toward him.

“This plan will not work,” he continued. “Not with the people who are involved. I am a student of history. As I said around that table, this has all happened before. And it has failed, time and time again.” His hands dropped. “We need a man, a hero—a
real
hero—or we are all dead.”

“A hero?”

“Yes. We need a Cu’ Chuliann, a Finn MacCool, or a Lugh the Longhand. We need the extraordinary. What we have now are an old man, two children, a fat priest, and a man more suited to love than war.”

The monk pointed a thick finger in Alan’s face.

“You spend too much time in your stories, bard. There are no such extraordinary heroes, no legends, and there is no need for them. Ordinary people create change. I have an entire book that teaches us how a handful of ordinary fishermen turned the world on its ear.”