Orphan of Destiny (10 page)

“Little John,” I said, shaking his hand, “it is good to see you!”

“And you, Tristan. Tell me, why are you not with Sir Thomas?” he asked.

With as little detail as possible, I told him what had happened to us since he and I had last met in Dover. When I related what I feared of Sir Thomas’ fate, he bowed his head and went still a moment.

“A good man, that one,” he said. “I pray God watches over his soul.”

“John, why are you here? What happened to your smithy in Dover?” I asked him.

“Hmph. My smithy? The Lionheart’s brother John took care of that. Come. I’ve a camp not far from here. There isn’t much but I’ll share it with you. Even you,
Robard Hode
of Sherwood,” he said, shooting him a less than friendly look.

“I hardly think so—” Robard sputtered, but I put my hand on his chest and shushed him.

“That would be wonderful. We’ve had . . . a . . . what you could call a very eventful day, and we could use the rest,” I said. Without another word, Little John retreated in the direction from which he’d come. We gathered up our gear and horses and followed as he disappeared into the thick woods, Robard fuming and muttering curses under his breath the whole way. Angel took the lead, content to sniff at the ground and follow Little John’s scent.

In a short while, we arrived at his camp. The fire was stoked and his tunic and other wet clothing dried on a bush nearby. He had changed into a loose-fitting cloak the size of a ship’s sail. An iron kettle full of pottage warmed over the fire. It was quite inviting.

He had placed several cut sections of logs near the fire and bade us sit.

“I don’t have much, but let the pottage simmer for a while and I’ll be happy to share.” John sat on a log, his hands holding his knees. Angel sniffed lightly at John’s leg and then leapt up into his lap and enthusiastically licked his face.

“Whoa! What have we here?” he exclaimed. He scratched Angel behind the ears and she flopped onto her back so John could rub her belly. Her head lolled over and I swear she locked her eyes directly on Robard, who paced back and forth behind Maryam and I while we sat on the logs near the fire.

“Traitorous beast,” he muttered under his breath.

“John, what happened in these last few months to make you leave Dover?” I asked.

“When Richard departed for the Holy Land, he left his sniveling brat of a brother John in charge. The bas—” He stopped, giving Maryam a sideways look. “Let’s just say he’s never met a tax he wouldn’t raise. He declared a ‘state of emergency’ to support the war, and he’s levied taxes on nearly every merchant, farmer and tradesman in the entire kingdom. No one can pay what he demands. And you can’t charge more to shoe a horse to cover the tax because no one else has money to pay you either.” He kicked at a log in the fire and sparks rose. The sun was peeking over the eastern sky, but it was still dark and overcast, and the flaming flecks swirled up into the air like swarms of bees.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He shrugged his giant shoulders. “I couldn’t keep my smithy open, and one day a group of King’s Guards showed up with the Shire Reeve. John was sending his own guards out to collect taxes. I guess the bailiffs and the reeves couldn’t collect it fast enough to feed his little pig face. Anyway, they told me what I owed and knew I couldn’t pay it. So they took my equipment and things got rough. I took on six of them, and gave ’em a licking, that’s for certain,” he said.

“Maybe I’m beginning to like you after all,” Robard muttered.

John laughed. “Wasn’t anything left for me there. They tried dragging me off for assault, but I broke loose, took a horse and ran. I’ve been hiding out here ever since. When I served with Sir Thomas in King Henry’s army, I learned to always make sure I had a backup plan. Always kept a cache of tools and a few crosslets hidden nearby, enough to make do for a while. I found that bridge there and have been charging a toll to whoever passes by. I expect some baron owns the land, and he’ll find me out soon enough and I’ll have to move on. It’s thievin’, what I’m doing, I guess, but what else can a man do?”

We each nodded, not knowing what to tell him. The pottage bubbled on the fire and smelled delicious, and John passed out a wooden plate that we shared, eating until we had our fill. Robard sat down next to Maryam and filled the plate, letting her eat first before he took his meal. When he was finished, he scooped out a bit and blew on it to cool, placing it on the ground for Angel. She devoured it in three gulps, then curled up by the fire and went instantly to sleep.

“What are your plans now, Tristan? Why did Sir Thomas order you away from his side?” Little John asked.

“I have very important dispatches for the Master of the Order. Sir Thomas ordered me to deliver them to . . . London . . . but I . . . ah . . . learned . . . the Master is in Scotland. So I must travel there to find him. I met Robard and Maryam along the way and we’ve been traveling together ever since.” I hadn’t lied, much, but I had withheld most of the truth. Desperately wanting to steer the conversation away from Sir Thomas and my duty, I asked, “What are you going to do, John?”

He was quiet for a moment as he stared into the fire. “I’m not certain. I really haven’t thought about it. I keep hoping some of the nobles will rise up and knock some sense into Prince John, but we could easily starve before that happens.”

“I have an idea. There is a place, not far from here, where you might be useful. Why don’t you travel with us? If I’m not completely lost, it’s only a day’s ride. If it doesn’t work out, you can always return here and reopen your toll bridge.”

Robard sat up straight as I finished, and even Maryam’s eyes were wide. “Tristan! A word, please!” Robard said as he grabbed me by the arm, pulling me some distance from the fire. If Little John took notice of Robard’s actions, he pretended not to.

“What in the world are you thinking?” Robard asked.

“About what?” I said nonchalantly.

“No games, Tristan, you understand very well what!” Robard whispered.

“Robard, as you and Maryam so recently pointed out to me, we are in a fight for our lives. You have
met
Little John, have you not? Don’t you think having someone like him on our side would be an asset?”

“He’s big, I’ll give you that. And . . . deceptively fast. But how well do you know this man? He made your sword? You talked to him for a few minutes several months ago? It’s not much to base a friendship on. Besides, I don’t like him.”

“Well, there’s no surprise there. Did I tell you he saved my hide once? And Sir Thomas himself swore to his character? Besides, I based our entire friendship on the fact that you came to my aid when those bandits attacked me in Outremer,” I countered.

“This isn’t about me—of course
I’m
trustworthy. So what if he did save you from the King’s Guards? You see how he’s been living. He’s turned to thievery. Why—”

“What story did you tell me when we first met?” I interrupted. “Of the man you knew back home who killed one of the King’s deer to feed his starving family? Wouldn’t we all turn to thieving if we were hungry enough?”

“Ahh. I don’t like this. This is
not
a good idea. Besides, what place are you referring to, a day’s ride from here? Where do you want to take him? Surely you don’t mean all the way to Scotland?”

“No,” I said. “Not Scotland. Tomorrow we’re riding straight to St. Alban’s. I need to go home.”

12

L
ittle John agreed to ride on with us the next morning. He gathered up his meager belongings in a small cloth bag, which he slung over his shoulder. He left us alone briefly to retrieve his mount, hobbled deep in the woods. Watching him ride turned out to be quite humorous, since he was nearly as big as the horse. He sat low in the saddle, his feet nearly dragging on the ground.

Robard and John worked toward an uneasy peace. They avoided each other for the most part, and whenever we stopped to water and rest the horses, they didn’t speak to or acknowledge each other in any way. Maryam and I were more than content to let things go as they were. Angel, however, had fully accepted Little John as a member of our group, and I couldn’t deny it felt safer having him along with us.

As we rode toward St. Alban’s, I finally had a moment to give more thought to the Queen Mother and her improbable declaration. Sir Hugh had seen us in Dover. He would send word to Eleanor of Aquitaine, and she would certainly send more soldiers to help in the search.

We had encountered no patrols since racing from Dover. We’d skirted every town and village, and succeeded in avoiding any contact with Templars or King’s Guards. Assuming they had lost our trail, at least for a while, I allowed myself some small measure of hope. Here, on our home soil, and with the help of my friends, we might actually be able to escape Sir Hugh’s clutches.

“You’ve been very quiet lately,” Maryam said to me as we rode along.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry. Just thinking is all,” I said, distracted.

“What about?” she asked.

“The usual questions,” I said. “Is Sir Hugh following us? Where are the King’s Guards? How will we get to Scotland? And I’m wondering if—” I stopped, not wanting to mention Celia’s name out loud and be teased relentlessly for it. But I found that as we drew farther away from Sir Hugh and whenever I was not fighting for my life, Celia’s face invaded my memory.

Maryam and I trotted easily at the head of our small column. Robard and Little John followed.

“She does, you know,” Maryam said after I’d been silent a moment.

“What? Who does?” I asked, confused.

“Celia. She thinks of you, Tristan.”

“I didn’t . . . I . . . Do you really think so?” I stammered. It was no use to deny that Celia had been what I was thinking about. Maryam just knew these things.

“Of course,” she said.

“How do you know?” I asked her.

“By the time we left Montségur, Celia was already in love with you. Of course you didn’t know it.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. We hardly even talked or . . . We barely know each other,” I protested.

“You don’t choose love, Tristan, love chooses you. Think of it. You went back to help her. At great cost and sacrifice, I might add. Don’t you remember how she looked at you when we entered the gates of her fortress?” she asked. “When she saw you there, the happiness in her eyes . . . Trust me, it was love.” In truth I had no idea how she had looked at me, for I could only remember being awestruck by seeing her there again.

“Looked at me? What . . . I . . . don’t . . . Maryam, that’s crazy,” I said.

“It might be, but it’s also true,” she said. She goaded her horse forward and rode ahead of me, as if to say that in her opinion, the matter was closed.

Toward the afternoon, we had to stop more frequently as John’s horse struggled to keep up with us under the immense girth of its rider. I kept my voice low, for I had no wish for Robard, or especially Little John, to overhear. When we were besieged at Montségur, I had told my friends the true nature of the task Sir Thomas had lain before me, and Maryam had readily embraced it as the truth, informing us she had heard the song of the Grail in Outremer. Robard still didn’t believe I carried the Holy Grail. And as much as I trusted that Little John was noble and good, I did not intend to reveal to him the full extent of my mission.

We spent an hour in the late morning stopping to rest and building a small fire to warm ourselves. My wound ached considerably, and I strode back and forth near the fire, trying to work the soreness out of it. Maryam could see I was still troubled and approached me while Robard and Little John squatted by the fire, eyeing each other like two dogs measuring the distance to the last bone, each one waiting for the other to pounce first. Angel sat between them, watching them with curiosity.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Much better. Stronger every day, in fact,” I said. In truth riding horseback was growing unbearable. But remaining in one place long enough to heal was not an option.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “Is something on your mind besides the fair Celia?”

I shrugged. Maryam had an uncanny ability to extract information from me. She could read my moods and somehow found a way to make me reveal my secrets, often before I even realized what I was saying. And if my answers became short and clipped, she probed harder until she had sniffed out the truth. She’d never admit it, of course. Part of her wanted
me
to believe she couldn’t tell when I withheld things from her. But she was always a step or three ahead of me.

“Something has been bothering you ever since we escaped the castle in Calais. What is it?” She went straight to the point.

“Really, it’s just my wound. Getting shot is no small thing. A seeping wound in one’s side tends to cut down on happy thoughts, you know.”

“Yes,” she said, flexing the very shoulder Robard’s arrow had wounded in Outremer. “But it’s not the wound, it’s something else. You act puzzled.”

“Hmm. Well, you could be right. I’m trying to figure out a way to keep us all from getting captured and thrown into prison. Or worse. I’d almost rather have Sir Hugh right in front of me, because at least then I’d know where he was. Having him in the shadows makes me jumpy. And as you both so recently reminded me, the only way out of this is for us, or rather me, to kill him. I, a squire to a Templar Knight, must somehow defeat a Marshal of the Order if he doesn’t slay me first.”

“Robard or I would be more than happy to dispatch him for you,” she said. A small smile came over her face at the thought of killing Sir Hugh.

“I appreciate it. Really, I do. But somehow, I think it must fall to me.”

“Almost since the moment I met you, Sir Hugh has been chasing you . . . us.” She glanced over her shoulder to the fire, making sure Little John was out of earshot. “And it’s not the Grail that’s troubling you. We could easily see your relief when you revealed your secret to us. But ever since the castle, upon encountering that horrible queen . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“All right. I’ll tell you what happened. But it has to be some kind of trick or deception Eleanor and Sir Hugh have concocted to distract me. I’m sure there is nothing to it. When we . . . and you were . . . on the barrel, just as Sir Hugh was about to . . . ,” I stammered, not wanting to relive it. “Eleanor said something to me.”