Romancing Robin Hood (16 page)

With a racing heart, Mathilda raised her hood, and hugged her cloak around her, afraid that the knife would be spotted despite being hidden beneath several layers of clothing. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking at her in particular, but at the market in general, Mathilda edged closer to the last stall in the row. She could just make out the gateway she needed to get to over the crowd's heads.

Passing stalls displaying apples, freshly baked bread, and roasting pigs, nothing registered beyond her duty. Soon only two stands remained to be passed. Mathilda could now clearly see the slim walkway ahead, between a fenced off garden and the back wall of a workshop. She had just increased her pace, when Mathilda spotted a familiar face behind the final stall of the row.

She froze on the spot. There were plenty of people about. Surely she wouldn't be easily singled out from them, but Mathilda pulled her hood further forward anyway, covering as much as her face as possible as she watched Geoffrey of Reresby selling his pots with comfortable ease on the final stall in the row.

A jealous, angry bile rising in her throat as her eyes ran over the mass of ceramicware he could afford to offer. He may have appeared welcoming and friendly, but Mathilda knew differently. Reresby had beaten her father to the best pitches at markets and fairs for the past few years, often cheating or bribing his way into favour with the local lords so that they would buy from him and no one else.

She was only partially surprised to see him so far from home; this was a popular market after all. Mathilda also knew of her own father's shortcomings. It would never have crossed his mind to travel so far to make money.

Making sure she stayed shrouded behind a group of women chatting about the goods on offer, Mathilda moved slowly with them, until at last she was close enough to the alleyway to slip away from the stall without Geoffrey seeing her. Suppressing the idea of turning back and throwing one of the small stones which littered the edges of the road at the stall, and smashing as many of his pots as possible, Mathilda left the bustle behind her; wondering if it was her presence with the Folvilles was what had caused this abrupt, uncharacteristically violent urge.

Just as Master Hugo had said, there was a choice of roads. She took the right-hand one as instructed, and walked purposefully, trying to give the air of someone who knew where they were going, and had a perfect right to be there.

She'd travelled about a mile and was sure she should have arrived by now. She had passed the final dwelling and yet there was no manor house in sight, just a stretch of land strips to the right and a cluster of coppiced wood to the left. Mathilda dare not ask anyone for help. Anyway, the market had drawn most of the population away from their daily labours for a few precious hours, and the side street before her lay deserted.

Slipping between the trees Mathilda came to a standstill, her mind racing. Somehow she must have gone wrong. Thinking fast, she reran her instructions in her head.
Go on the right path, and keep going.
She had done exactly that. Childish tears sprang to the corners of her eyes as Mathilda took in her situation. She scrubbed them away, angry at herself, but angrier with Robert. He'd trusted Master Hugo, even though she hadn't. There was no other conclusion to reach. The leatherworker had given her the wrong directions on purpose.

A vision of her father and brothers flashed through Mathilda's head. She wouldn't let them down. For that matter, she didn't want to let Robert down either. Not because she cared about him, she told herself, but because she wanted to prove she wasn't the little girl he thought she was, and was worthy of the expectations his family held of her. Although the Folvilles' methods worried her, they were effective, and the fear they engendered was at least smeared with respect.

‘What would Robyn Hode do?' Mathilda whispered to herself as she crouched between the spindly trees, watching for any other sign of life. ‘He'd make a plan and stick to it. I have to find the manor, so I'll have to ask someone, I have no choice. But I need a plausible reason for asking.' This was less easy to think up. She had no money on her, so she couldn't buy a gift to pretend to take to the Coterel's home, she only had her message. Would that be enough? Or was she supposed to keep the fact that she was delivering a message a secret, along with the message itself?

It had to be the gift idea. A present from a master to Coterel perhaps? A master she would have to make up, so if she was forced to give more details, she at least sounded plausible. How about Master Hugo? She owed him some trouble after all.

Mathilda felt the knife against her side, thankful now that Robert had forced it upon her, and with a heavy sigh strode back the way she'd come. There was only one thing she could claim was a gift to the Coterels from Master Hugo, and with a heavy heart, she undid her girdle and laid it across her palms. With any luck she wouldn't have to part with it once she'd reached the manor. She really didn't want to face Robert's fury if she lost the girdle, even if it was through no fault of her own. She ran her fingers over the pattern, and was struck with the idea that she'd seen it somewhere else as she began to walk faster, her heart thudding in her chest.

Retracing her steps, Mathilda mused as to Master Hugo's motives. Why send her the wrong way? She was convinced he hadn't done it by mistake. Was he really on the Folvilles' side? Or was his friendship to Robert fake on his part for some reason, the bond they forged on the battlefield merely convenient for his own plans? Mathilda resolved to be even more wary, and also to say nothing to him of his success in misleading her when she got back to his stall. There was no way she'd give him the satisfaction, and was determined to frustrate Master Hugo by somehow succeeding in her mission.

On reaching the first holding on the edge of the town, Mathilda called out, trying to keep the nerves from her voice, ‘Excuse me.'

She was relieved when it was a child who ran to meet her hail, ‘Can I help you, my Lady?'

My Lady?
Mathilda was momentarily stunned by the address, until she remembered her new attire, and quickly adopted what she hoped would be the mannerisms to go with her assumed social status.

‘I have taken a wrong turn, I think. My father has instructed me to take this gift to the manor of the Lords Coterel, do you know the way?'

The boy, who she guessed was no more than ten years old, shrank back a little, ‘The Coterel manor, you say?'

‘Please. They are expecting this, I bought it from the market,' she showed the boy the girdle, ‘and I fear it would be unwise to delay in its delivery.'

‘You are right there, my Lady, my father says the Coterels are not patient men.' He bit his lips, suddenly, as he wondered if he'd spoken out of turn.

Mathilda smiled to reassure him, ‘You can direct me?'

‘I can, my Lady; you are two miles adrift. Go towards the market place, and just as you reach it, there are two further paths, one to the market, and one to the left. Take the left road. A mile or so down there and you'll reach the house.'

‘Thank you,' said Mathilda with all the authority she could muster.

‘Please, my Lady,' said the boy as she turned to go, ‘where are your horse and attendant?'

Mathilda hadn't been ready for this question; her cheeks flush in betrayal of her role, ‘My maid is helping at the market, and my horse is lame.'

She hastened away, uneasy at leaving the boy staring after her in disbelief, but glad that she now knew where she was going. She strode as quickly as was seemly, aware that she was already well behind time if she was to return to Hugo's stall by midday.

A sound behind her made her turn. It was the boy on a pony and cart. ‘May I assist you; I can give you a lift as far as the market, if you don't mind travelling in the cart. I apologise, I should have offered before, but I wasn't thinking straight.'

Mathilda only hesitated for a second, before agreeing and thanking her helper.

The boy chatted away as they rode, ‘I wouldn't want anyone to get any trouble from the Coterels, my Lady. I have seen them at work. No, I wouldn't want a pretty lady like you in trouble with them!'

Mathilda almost asked him what he'd seen, but then decided she didn't want to know. As they reached the crossroads she'd been at earlier, she alighted, ‘Our Lady's blessings on you, child.'

‘Thank you, my Lady. Good luck.'

This time the directions were correct, and it wasn't long before Mathilda could see the manor house ahead of her, at the end of a rough driveway. Re-securing the girdle around her waist, relieved that she hadn't needed to bargain with it after all, Mathilda lowered her hood and, hovering behind an oak at the roadside, took a moment to decide what to do next.

She was close to her destination now, and nerves swam haphazardly in her stomach. These were men to be cautious of, but, she thought with a stab of pride, she'd already survived being kidnapped and put in the Folvilles' holding cell, so she could survive this. She had stood before the Folville family, and was now being trusted with a task which, Robert had told her, was vital to both them, and the second felonious family she was about to encounter. She could do this. She must.

Judging that it must already be about an hour until noon, Mathilda knew it was unlikely she would be back before the specified time. That was a shame; she would love to have seen the look on Master Hugo's face if she had.

Wasting no more time, and with a quick stroke of Robert's dagger for luck, she went cautiously forward. The driveway wasn't long, and Mathilda soon found herself in a neat courtyard.

A boy hurried up to her, ‘May I help you, mistress?'

‘I am instructed by my master to see the steward.'

Thankfully unfazed by her request, the boy ran towards what Mathilda took to be a workshop of some sort in the far corner of the yard.

She had barely time to examine her surroundings, when a gruff barrel of a man strode impatiently towards her. She'd obviously disturbed him from his labours, and he wasn't too impressed by that fact.

Mathilda spoke quickly, ‘My apologies for the disturbance. I have a message. La Zouche and De Heredwyk.'

The solid man's eyebrows knotted together in a frown of disapproval as he stared at her with disdain. Mathilda raised her head in response, copying the expression of haughty annoyance she had seen on Sarah the housekeeper when she'd struggled to bathe her two days ago.

Grunting, the steward set off towards the main house, ‘Come on then.'

Following him, Mathilda resisted the temptation to run to keep up. She repeated the message over and over in her head, hoping that her welcome would be well received, and that this visit would be swift.

‘Wait here.' The steward left her in a narrow corridor between the main door and the hall. It was a larger house than the Ashby Folville residence, but no warmer or lighter, and as Mathilda peered around her, she saw it was in more need of care than the Folvilles home.

‘In here.' The steward spoke abruptly, pointing his way forward with a calloused hand.

Mathilda went were she was directed, into a hall busy with servants at one end, and a long table near the fire place at the other.

A stocky man with tamed curly black hair and a clipped beard was looking at her expectantly. His fine clothes told her he was a Coterel, but not which one.

‘My Lord,' Mathilda curtseyed, ‘I have a message.'

‘Give it, child.'

‘Please, my Lord, I have been instructed to ask whom I am addressing first.' The man smiled, not a friendly smile, but a knowing smile, one that told her that he would have instructed a messenger of his own in the same way should the roles have been reversed.

‘I'm Nicholas Coterel. The message?'

‘De Vere has agreed.'

Coterel's shrewd face gave little away, but his dark eyes shone with what Mathilda hoped was satisfaction. He stood for a moment and then said, ‘You may give the Folvilles my reply. Tell them, “The message is well received. Three days. Midnight.”'

Mathilda copied the message back, ‘The message is well received. Three Days. Midnight.'

‘Exactly right,' Coterel gestured to Mathilda to sit down as he took a draft of ale, ‘I am curious at Folvilles choice of envoy. Who are you, child?'

Mathilda sat down, swallowing nervously, wishing that everyone would stop referring to her as a child, ‘I am companion to Robert de Folville, my Lord. My name is Mathilda, and I'm from Twyford.'

Coterel choked on his drink and sent a fine spray across the table, ‘Are you? Are you indeed? Now that is interesting …' His voice trailed off, but his eyes never left his visitor.

Mathilda stiffened, unsure how to respond, so simply said, ‘If you'll forgive me, my Lord, I must return to my duties, I have another errand to run.' She flicked her eyes around the hall; Mathilda had an increasing feeling that Nicholas wasn't the only one watching her.

‘Of course, but have a drink first; you have travelled far and must be tired. I confess I am curious to know how you got here, as my steward tells me you have no horse.'

Mathilda inclined her head with gratitude as she was presented with a cup of honeyed ale.

‘I should advise you to tell me the truth, Mathilda of Twyford. I'm sure you will have been told all about me by your young man, although I find myself believing that you would never be so stupid as to lie to me anyway.'

Chapter Eighteen

Doing her best to ignore the fact that all the hairs on the back of her neck had stood up, and her conviction that she was being surveyed from some hidden location in the smoky hall, Mathilda had seen the sense in telling Nicholas Coterel everything about her day so far when he'd asked, although how she came to be in the company of the Folvilles in the first place she kept to herself.

Nicholas had not appeared surprised by Hugo's behaviour; although he didn't venture an opinion as why the leatherworker had acted in the way he had, beyond saying ‘Master Hugo is an odd one and no mistake. I can see why you wish to get back to him on schedule. He'd hate that!'