Holy Warrior (6 page)

‘What news?’ I said.

‘Sir Ralph Murdac means to see your master dead.’

‘There is nothing new in that, boy - Sir Ralph and Robin of Sherwood have been enemies since before you were born,’ I said dismissively, and I closed my eyes again.

‘But Sir Ralph has made it known that he will give a hundred pounds of fine German silver for any man who kills him, and brings in his head,’ the boy said.

My eyes flashed open. I was stunned, speechless: I had no idea that Murdac had that amount of money to give away for one man’s death. ‘Where did you hear this?’ I asked.

‘I over-overheard Sir Ralph tell the captain of the castle guard to pass the message of the reward to his men.’ The boy looked at me anxiously. ‘If you give this information to the Earl, perhaps he will look favourably upon me and take me into his service,’ he said. His eyes were pleading.

I looked at him again, perhaps he wasn’t so slack-witted after all; and a bold idea began to grow in my head, a way to test the mettle of this boy, give myself some satisfaction, right a wrong, and strike at Ralph Murdac’s pride into the bargain.

‘What is your name, boy?’ I asked.

‘William, sir,’ he replied.

‘And you are employed here as a servant,’ I said.

‘Yes, sir. I work in the kitchens - but on feast days sometimes I am allowed to serve in the great hall.’

‘Do you truly wish to serve Robert of Locksley?’ I asked.

‘Yes, sir, I will serve him right well; I will serve him as a man of his kind deserves to be served. I swear by Our Lady Mary the Mother of God.’

‘If you wish to serve Robin, first you must serve me. Will you do that? And later, in a few months, you may be allowed join my master on the Great Pilgrimage to the Holy Land. That privilege carries with it the promise of Salvation, and exemption from all your sins. Would you like that?’ The boy nodded so fast and furiously, I feared he might break his neck.

‘But, William, and this is very important, you must not tell a soul that you are serving my lord Locksley until it is time to leave the castle to join your master. Can you do that?’

‘Yes, sir. I am new here at Nottingham, and all alone in the world, I have no friends or family to talk to.’ He looked down at his shoes. ‘My father was fou-foully murdered, sir, by thieves, and my mother died of grief soon afterwards.’ He was snivelling slightly and I felt sorry for the poor lad. I knew what it was to have no one.

‘Nevertheless, you may feel the urge to tell someone that you secretly serve the famous Robin Hood. It’s a natural urge. But, just remember, if you tell anyone about your service, you will never be allowed to join him. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘There is one more thing; you might think of it as a test of your loyalty to Robin. A proof that you truly wish to serve him faithfully.’

‘Tell me what it is, sir, I will do anything.’

‘There is an object, a jewel of great price that rightfully belongs to Robin’s lady Marie-Anne. But Sir Ralph Murdac has stolen it. He wears this jewel around his neck every day - have you seen it? It is a great red ruby - I want you to help me reclaim it for its rightful owner.’

He didn’t even blink at the thought of daylight robbery, but agreed immediately, working his head as vigorously as before; and I knew he was going to fit in fine with Robin’s men. So I put my arm around William’s shoulder and quietly explained to him what we were going to do and how it would be done.

I stayed in Nottingham for two more days, but not at the castle. I could not bear to remain there, where I might be called back into the presence of Prince John for another round of musical humiliation. I stayed instead at the house of an old friend, Albert, a crony from my days as a snot-nosed street-thief, when I would cut away the purses of rich merchants and rely on the thickness of the market crowds to hide me as I made my escape. Albert was an honest man now, and married; he lived in a one-room hovel in the poorest part of the old English borough of Nottingham. So he knew better than to ask about the job I was planning; he knew I was up to no good but he was content to tolerate my presence in his home for the friendship we had enjoyed in the past - and for the silver penny that I had promised him when my business was over.

On the morning of the second day, William came to Albert’s house and told me that Sir Ralph Murdac was looking at rings in the street of the goldsmiths in the northern part of the town.

‘But he is not alone, sir,’ said William, looking worried. ‘He has two men-at-arms with him.’

‘I’m not concerned about that,’ I said, and I wasn’t. ‘Is he wearing the ruby?’

‘Yes, sir, on the gold chain, as always.’

I grinned: ‘Then let us go to him!’

William and I pushed through the thick market crowds none too gently and soon found ourselves at the southern end of Goldsmith’s Street. As we wanted to avoid being recognised by Murdac or his men, William had smeared his face with mud and wore a hood pulled far forward over his brow. I was dressed like an off-duty soldier, in a distinctive blue cloak, hauberk, and sword, with a bloody bandage covering one eye and a good deal of my cheek. I had also pasted some short clippings of Albert’s black hair on my upper lip and chin and covered up my blond locks with a floppy-brimmed hat. To be honest, I felt slightly ridiculous, but Albert assured me that no one would recognise me; the black artificial stubble, though it was crudely stuck on, made me look older, and a much rougher customer; they might comprehend later that I had been a person in disguise but, as everyone in the castle believed that the gifted
trouvère
Alan Dale had left Nottingham two days before with his serf-born tail between his legs, I would not be immediately suspected as the thief.

Our plan was very simple, as the best plans always are. And it was a manoeuvre I had made several times before, though not for a couple of years or more. It depended on surprise, timing, and the natural human reaction to a hard, winding blow to the stomach.

Sir Ralph Murdac was standing beside a shop counter that opened on to the street; inside the shop, I could just see two young goldsmiths hard at work, tapping away at delicate work with their tiny hammers. I felt the usual thrill of pleasure in my gut at the thought of imminent larceny. On the street, standing next to Murdac, was the master goldsmith, who was showing him a fine gold brooch. He had clearly made the effort to come out of his shop to wait upon to such a distinguished customer. Two men-at-arms, in Murdac’s personal colours of black and red, were standing about ten yards away, leaning against a wall and looking bored.

I walked towards the shop where Murdac was haggling with the goldsmith and stopped at the one before it, keeping my face hidden from the former Sheriff and pretending to examine some rather fine gold-chased spurs. William had been following me at a discreet distance. I was about twenty feet from Murdac and half-facing away from him. Out of the corner of my eye I could see William, coming towards me stealthily. He was a natural, moving like a predator, stopping now on this side of the street, now on the other, browsing, never touching the bright metal that was laid out on public display, never drawing attention to himself. But anyone watching him, if they cared to notice his movements, would think he was stalking me, like a house cat sidling up to an unsuspecting starling. Then he was next to me, on my right hand side, between Murdac and myself.

He didn’t look at me, the obedient boy, just tapped his finger against my thigh. I whispered: ‘Now!’ and then immediately shouted ‘Hoy! Stop thief!’ and quick as a cornered rat William darted away from me directly towards Ralph Murdac. I shouted: ‘My purse!’ and pelted after him. We were only twenty feet from Murdac and, in two heartbeats, William had charged straight into the little black-clad knight, butting him hard in the belly, just below the ribcage with his head as he ploughed forward. I was right on his heels bellowing: ‘Thief! Thief!’ As William’s brown head smashed into Murdac’s midriff, I was less than a yard behind him. All the breath came out of the evil little bastard in a short, agonised ‘whoomf!’ His body doubled over, and, as William bounced back and dodged away around Murdac’s bent-over form, I pointed and shouted at William to stop. While the world watched William take to his toes, I pretended to steady Sir Ralph Murdac with an arm round his shoulders and neatly whipped the gold chain and ruby over his lowered neck, and thrust the jewel into a sleeve of my tunic. Then I was past the winded knight, and the gaping, flat-footed men-at-arms and with a great cry of ‘Forgive me, sir, I must catch him!’ I was away and around the corner hot on William’s heels.

William was quick, I have to give him that - quicker than me, and I believed that I was as fit as I have ever been. In ten heartbeats we were a hundred paces away and at a crossroads where three roads converged. I had stopped shouting by this time - I hadn’t the breath - but also I wanted no one to intercept William. At the crossroads, William came to an abrupt halt, and ducked into the porch of a church. I followed him in, swiftly handed him the ruby, and walked away to the centre of the crossroads. The mid-afternoon crowds were fairly thick and the streets were crammed with ox-carts, horsemen, pedlars with big packs, housewives with their baskets and even a drover herding a great passel of sheep. William blended into the throng and began to walk swiftly but without appearing to hurry down the street to the left.

I looked behind me: the two men-at-arms were approaching at speed, and I pointed up the right-hand street and shouted: ‘There he is! Stop him, somebody!’ indicating an imaginary William some distance ahead. Then I ran. I bolted up the wrong street, shouting and halloo-ing and causing a quite a stir. People stopped and left their businesses and began to run with me. By sheer luck, for this was no part of the plan, I saw a boy about William’s age walking up the street ahead. I shouted: ‘That’s him, that’s the thief,’ and urged my fellow pursuers to lay hands on him as I lent against a wall and pretended to catch my breath. The unfortunate lad saw a crowd of enraged townsmen racing towards him shouting ‘Thief!’ and took off like a frightened rabbit. Once the pack had passed me, I was down the first alley I saw; the distinctive blue cloak, eye bandage and hat buried in a mound of wet straw, and I was doing my best to scrub off the fake stubble with a spit-wetted palm as I walked south to rejoin William at Albert’s house.

‘That was bravely done,’ said Robin, He was chuckling at my tale, but his mirth was nothing to Little John’s reaction: his big man’s laugh boomed out across the hall, drawing attention from scores of Robin’s men, and the tears were pouring down his cheeks as he slapped sturdy Owain on the back with glee. Even Sir James de Brus gave me a wintry smile.

‘And you have the ruby with you?’ asked Robin.

‘I have it,’ I said. And unbuckling my saddlebag, I pulled a cloth-wrapped lump from inside. Robin sent a servant for Marie-Anne and while my lord’s good lady waddled over to the table, bringing her lady-in-waiting Godifa with her, I unwrapped the parcel and pulled out the fruits of my larceny.

‘We must reward William with employment in your household,’ I reminded Robin.

‘Certainly, certainly, I can always use talent for mischief like his,’ he said but his eyes were fixed on the great jewel. It seemed to sparkle with a demonic light in the dim hall, glistening and malevolent, like a congealed drop of the Devil’s blood.

‘This belongs to you, my lady,’ I said and, lifting the jewel on its bright gold chain, I presented it to Marie-Anne, holding it in outstretched hands. She took it, but reluctantly. And then she turned to Godifa, a slim girl of about twelve years on the very lip of womanhood, who had grown up with Robin Hood’s outlaws, and who now served Marie-Anne as maid, companion and friend.

‘This is yours, Goody, surely you remember it?’ said Marie-Anne, placing the gold chain around the girl’s neck. ‘It was your mother’s, and you kindly lent it to me, and then I foolishly lost it when I was held captive by Sir Ralph last year.’ She was smiling at the girl. ‘I think you are old enough for it to look well on you now.’

Goody gazed down at the bright gold around her neck and at the great red jewel nestling between the buds of her breasts. She looked up at me, shining with happiness: ‘What do you think, Alan, does this stone become me?’

‘You look beautiful,’ I said. And it was true. Her face had changed shape since I last saw her, only several weeks ago; it had become longer, less round and the cheekbones more prominent. Her hair was long and fine, its colour the exact same shade as the gold around her neck. I could clearly see the beauty that she would become in a few years. And so I said again: ‘You truly look wonderful.’ And then strangely, her face became flushed bright pink, and she slipped off the bench she had been sitting on, came over to me, kissed me on the cheek, muttering, ‘Thank you, Alan’ before pelting off to the solar, shouting rudely behind her to her mistress, as she ran from the table without a by-your-leave, that she must look directly into Marie-Anne’s silver mirror.

‘She’s still not quite tamed, that one,’ said Robin, with a rueful smile at me. ‘Still wild deep in her soul.’

I knew Robin was right: the year before, after a catastrophe of fire and blood in which Goody’s parents had perished violently, she and I had been hunted like beasts by Ralph Murdac’s men through the remote places of Sherwood. We had survived the swords of mounted men-at-arms, attack by wild wolves and a madman who wanted to eat our flesh - and it had been Goody who had dispatched the lunatic with a brave dagger thrust through the eye. She had a strong, savage flame in her soul, which I knew would never be extinguished.

‘She’ll need a husband soon, Alan. Perhaps you are the man lusty enough to tame that wildcat,’ said Little John, and gave one of his great, hearty big-man guffaws.

I glared at him: ‘Goody is a child,’ I snapped. ‘I think of her as my sister, under my protection, and I will not hear talk like that about her. From anyone!’

Little John looked astounded by my outburst but he said nothing in reply. Marie-Anne spoke then - as always, her tact in a difficult situation smoothing the rough waters: ‘We all thank you for returning the jewel, Alan,’ she said. ‘But can I prevail upon you to tell the tale again of its recovery? I have not heard it. Could you bear to tell it again?’