Jennifer Roberson - [Robin Hood 02] (31 page)

Nottingham was always busy on Market Day, thronged with residents and merchants as well as peasants and tenant-farmers from the outlying regions. Robin used the crowd to hide himself among folk as he would among Sherwood’s trees.

He had put off the fine clothing he’d donned at his father’s castle in deference to the earl’s insistence, though he had been glad enough to strip out of mud-laden tunic and hosen and put on dry again. Now he wore a plain gray summer-weight wool tunic, hosen with buskins cross-gartered to his knees, leather bracers, and the hooded capelet. He was hardly alone in the latter; it was not unusual to hear someone described as the “hooded man” or “the man in the hood.” The only risk he ran was if he came face-to-face with one of the sheriff’s men, and only if that man knew him by sight. Otherwise, he was merely a yeoman in Nottingham on Market Day, very like perhaps a fifth of the current population.

Of course, once Much was rescued, the risks increased significantly.

Robin’s mind was fixed upon that task as once it fixed upon the needs of war, the requirements of a man’s mind, soul, and body that permitted him to kill another man.

He had never enjoyed war, not as the Lionheart relished it. He did not enjoy this. But he accepted both as his duty, to take lives, if necessary, in the pursuit of an honorable goal: to win back Jerusalem from the Infidel, and to keep Much from being maimed in the private battle Robin of Locksley
—
no,
Robin Hood
—now fought with the Sheriff of Nottingham.

He could see neither Will nor Alan, nor Tuck, nor even Marian. Robin supposed that was good, for if he could pick them immediately out of the crowd they were too obvious. But it made him uneasy that Marian was absent, or as like to invisible as an outlaw in Sherwood Forest, mere shadow in the wood. He would far rather know where she was, so he could keep an eye on her and be certain she was safe.

Have faith,
he chided himself. They were none of them fools, nor careless with their skins.

But Marian’s skin was more precious to him than his own.

Have faith,
he repeated, because if he divided his concentration with concern for Marian, he risked everyone’s life, including hers.

Robin shook off the nagging worry and reconnoitered several alleys, lanes, and closes near the open square hosting stalls and wagons as well as the stocks, whipping post, and the block where limbs were struck off. He considered renting a room at an inn, an upstairs room with a window overlooking the square. But swift escape would be hindered by such things as narrow stairs, ladders, or even people who might prove loyal to the sheriff. Much
was
a thief; Robin did not doubt someone might attempt to stop him once the deed was done.

And then he recalled Abraham the Jew, a money-lender with whom he had conducted business years before in the name of King Richard. The Jewish Quarter was not close enough to the Square to be ideally situated for his needs, but other buildings were. And a fair share of people who lived and worked in other buildings owed debts to Abraham.

Robin wasted no time. He ran.

 

In short order Marian discovered she had better chance than expected of remaining anonymous and unremarkable even near the castle gates. She was dressed like a great many others, and a great many others thronged the lanes and alleys as well as the square itself, browsing booths, stalls, carts, wagons, even cloths spread on the ground. Men and women shouted out their wares as others bargained with raised voices. A street minstrel, whose poor voice and lute skills would appall Alan, had attracted a clutch of young women who seemed inured to sour notes and wandering pitch. Not far from the gates stood the smithy, where the broad, sweating man before its open doors pounded hot iron against an anvil. Not far from him was a tinker’s wagon, where pots were mended; nearby a pack of street dogs fought noisily over a bitch apparently in season.

Marian felt some of the tension spill out of her shoulders. She had focused solely on the danger, on the idea of what they risked despite the goal and her willingness; she had forgotten how noisy and crowded Market Day was. While the sheriff might find the audience he desired to see his justice meted out, they, too, could use the audience to shield them from the sheriff.

Feeling better, Marian began drifting from stall to booth, from wagon to cart, keeping an eye on the castle gates. The castle was surrounded by a curtain-walled bailey with a sentry-walk atop it. But the walls were in turn surrounded by streets and alleys tangled up like skeins of yarn. It was small task to find a narrow, winding lane at one corner of the castle wall that gave out into the square even as it led away into the depths of the city itself, bisected by countless others. There was even a water barrel to catch runoff from the wall, and a bench, both providing reason to linger. She could slouch there at the corner unobtrusively with escape at her back, and a clear view of the castle gates from which the sheriff and his soldiers would issue with Much in their midst. Meanwhile, she could wander; deLacey would, as Robin noted, wish to parade his prisoner. There was time for her to take up her post at the wall.

She nodded absently, then leaned the longbow against her shoulder as she wiped a damp-palmed hand against the hem of her tunic. Much deserved this. They would not fail him. But she would be a liar if she denied a measure of apprehension and anxiety.

Get up, Robin had said. Find a high place, for the angle and the chance for escape. Well, she lacked the high place as well as significant height. But the castle gates were tall, and the sound of an arrow loosed from an English longbow, whining through the air and thunking into wood, was unmistakable no matter where it struck.

She took the bow grip into her hand once again, and with the other checked the seating of the quiver over her shoulder. Robin had lessoned her well in five years, and she had wasted no time rehoning her eye after deLacey had come to her hall. Let him reap what he had sowed.

 

DeLacey set Gisbourne the task of gathering up a small troop of castle guards and going out into the city to cry the announcement of the upcoming punishment of a notorious thief. Once the introductions were made so that as large a crowd as possible was ready to witness the moment, the sheriff and another clutch of soldiers would escort Much to Market Square and to the block, where he would be chained down and his hands struck off. But only
after
deLacey had recounted the boy’s sins and crimes, not the least of which was helping “Robin Hood” rob the tax shipment of monies gathered from the citizens themselves.

He knew there had been widespread laughter and jests with regard to Locksley stealing the shipment quite literally from under the sheriff’s own nose; the auxiliary tax collection had been most unpopular, and many believed the robbery poetic justice, especially since Locksley foolishly had Abraham the Jew distribute the money among the poor before it was reclaimed by the Crown. Even King Richard, newly ransomed, had been amused by the audacity of the robbery and subsequent distribution, and pardoned the act rather than punished it. But the wealthy merchants of the city had been neither pleased nor amused, and the only reason deLacey had not been able to arrest Locksley and the others was that the Lionheart was home again, and all of England rejoiced. It would have been politically foolish to arrest the son of a powerful earl when that man was also a Crusader knighted personally by the immensely popular king.

Times were different now. There would be no pardon for such acts as thievery, and Much was known as an expert pickpocket. DeLacey had simple-minded Much dead to rights.

Meanwhile, Robert of Locksley was disinherited; Marian was on the verge of losing her manor and lands; Alan of the Dales was cut off from his former life among the gentry, forced to make silver pennies in roadhouses instead of silver marks in the halls of lords; and Tuck was denied an opportunity to join the priesthood and rise through the ranks of the Church. DeLacey had begun his revenge, however slowly it progressed, and he did not doubt eventually he would have them all destroyed.

 

Robin ran lightly up the narrow stairs to the room under the eaves, secure in the knowledge no one in the building would hinder him. Abraham’s note had given him the freedom to come and go at need, and the door to the street would not be immediately unbarred should soldiers arrive demanding to be let in, which would give him a chance to escape.

The room huddled beneath a steeply pitched roof, the angle so extreme that Robin had to duck his head to avoid cracking open his skull. A single window illuminated the tiny room. A broken cot was shoved against the wall beneath the window; Robin pushed it out of the way with a scrape of wood on wood, then unlatched the lopsided shutter. Leather hinges were stiff and unwieldy, but he tamed the shutter’s temper and set it against the wall. A narrow opening, but tall enough for him to perch himself in it so long as he sat upon the sill. Below the window extended the thatched overhang shielding the street door from rain. Robin worked his body into the unshuttered frame and settled his rump upon the sill, one foot outside dug into the thatching for support, one bracing himself from the inside. The building fronted the portion of the Square in front of the castle gates; he had a clear and unobstructed view of the pillory, the stocks, and the block. From here, an archer with an English longbow could punch an arrow through plate armor, let alone through mail.

Robin stripped off the quiver, leaned down into the room, and set it against the wall. He could not shoot from this position—the bow was too long for the opening—but he had two options: to slide back into the room, take up one arrow after another, nock, aim, and let fly through the window; or to stand up on the thatched overhang and shoot from the open.

He nodded. And waited.

 

Marian’s head jerked up as she heard the call: “
Oyez! Oyez!
” It was quickly followed by the shouted announcement that all citizens of Nottingham were to gather in the square to witness the punishment of a known pickpocket.

A chill swept her bones, setting the hairs to rising on her flesh. She saw the gates pushed open, saw the troop of soldiers, saw Gisbourne at their head. They wore mail, blue surcoats, Norman helms, broadswords, and carried shields and crossbows. The latter disturbed her; crossbows were limited in distance and accuracy compared to longbows, but nonetheless afforded the soldiers better offense against archers than swords. It gave them more latitude to stop the rescue, to wound or possibly kill Robin and the others.

Or even me . . .
But she shook that off at once, concentrating instead on sliding through the crowd to take up her position near the corner of the wall, beside the bench and barrel. When a taller man stepped in front of her, it was a wholly natural response for her to climb up onto the bench, not in the least unusual. The added height gave her a better view of the gates and the soldiers and allowed her room to shoot over the crowd, but she was not so tall that she was markedly obvious. Robin had been right to send Little John into Sherwood; the giant would have been noticed immediately, and targeted by deLacey’s men.

She was aware of an almost painful emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Tension bled back into her shoulders. Her breath ran shallow, as if she could not pull in enough air to fill her lungs. Marian wrenched her eyes from the soldiers and looked about swiftly, searching for Robin, Tuck, Scarlet, and Alan. Tuck she knew had to be somewhere in the crowd, somewhere near the block, but the others would be up if possible, stationed at a high vantage point. No one on the ground would have opportunity to shoot through the crowd without the risk of hitting an innocent bystander.

Her quick search found no familiar faces. She supposed that was good; if even she, knowing they were somewhere in the square, couldn’t find them, neither could the soldiers.

Gisbourne and the sheriff’s men cleared a passage through the gathering crowd, opening room around the block. She heard hawkers cursing Gisbourne; all customers now turned their attention to him instead of continuing to bargain. But after a few moments even the vendors grew interested. Some of them threw cloths over their wares and shinnied up the stall posts to balance atop their shelves or to cling precariously to awning supports. The crowd was in two layers now: those on the ground, and those climbing up on whatever they might—stalls, wagons, benches, even the pillory and stocks—to find a better view. People gathered in ground-floor doorways and second-story windows. Fathers snatched children up onto their shoulders, bidding them not to miss the show.

The crowd was pushed back further by Gisbourne and his troop of soldiery, while other onlookers were ordered down from the stocks and pillory. Marian assessed the opening in the crowd, noting how much room surrounded the area where Much would be brought. Into that space, if necessary, she had to carefully place her arrows so as to warn away the soldiers, while harming no one.

A full listing of Much’s crimes was shouted above the noise. And then a second troop of soldiers exited the castle, a clutch of men on foot surrounding the boy, moving awkwardly in his chains. Behind them, mounted, rode William deLacey.

Those nearest the bench upon which Marian stood surged forward, moving into the Square proper. Marian still needed the extra height to see over the crowd, but no one stood beside her. No one stood behind her. Everyone was thronging into the square, trying to see and hear what was about to happen.

One well-placed arrow, and deLacey was dead.

The very thing that Will Scarlet desired.

Marian’s breath ran raggedly through a constricted throat. Somewhere in the crowd, somewhere above the crowd, Scarlet drew his bowstring. She knew it.
Knew
it. And cursed him for it.