The Greenwood Shadow (17 page)

"Bait? What on earth are you going on about?"

"Come now. From the way that boy looked at you, I knew he would be like clay in our hands. He would do anything for you. Go to
anyone
for help."

Evey glared. "Why are you doing all this? Robin Hood isn't any more worthy of your notice than other brigands."

Sir Guy laughed.

"Oh isn't he? Well, I admit that the deeds have been greatly exaggerated, but it isn't the material loss that creates our biggest problem. Robin Hood has become a legend. A folk hero. He gives the peasants ideas, makes them dissatisfied with their lot."

"Is it a crime to want a better life?"

"YES!" he cried, and she rocked back a step. "Yes. They are peasants. Their purpose in life is to serve the king and the nobles of this land. Those of us in control know what is best for them. If Robin Hood leads them to believe otherwise, it harms the country and helps no one."

"You can't be serious." Evey felt a surge of reckless courage. "I know dozens of people with no title who are twice the caliber of you and your precious king!"

All around the room she could hear the sharp intake of breath. Evey would have been worried, except that her execution was already scheduled. What she said now would be of little consequence.

Sir Guy stared at her, obviously at a loss for words. Evey couldn't decide which idea shocked him more. That she had openly criticized the way things were, or that she had just compared him to a peasant. She was so pleased with herself that she couldn't resist one more jibe.

"You are right, Sir Guy. There are some people who are better than others, but it isn't by virtue of birth or rank. It is their actions that raise and lower men. And judging by your actions, you are one of the lowest pieces of filth to plague this world. Hang me, if you must. Add one more crime to your conscience."

Again, Sir Guy stared in silence. Evey stared right back, stoic and unblinking. The knight tried to look elsewhere, but her gaze was too piercing. Unable to turn the conversation back to his favor, he quickly ordered everyone out and slammed the door, leaving Evey in the dark once again.

Her knees gave out. She was going to die. In five days, her life would end. As terrifying as it was, though, she felt an ironic sense of liberation. Her situation couldn't possibly get worse, and that allowed her to say or do just about anything she wanted.

Her thoughts turned to Emeric. Would he try to look for her, or just assume that she had run away for good? No. He trusted her more than that. Didn't he? Would he really believe that she would keep her word to him? As she looked back on her life, she realized that she hadn't given him much reason to.

Her thoughts trailed naturally from Emeric to Sir Robert. After meeting Sir Guy, her opinions of the steward had definitely improved.

Then there was Isaiah. Sir Guy was right. Isaiah would be combing the forest, desperately searching for Robin Hood. But even if the man existed, her friend would never find him, convince him to help, and stage a rescue within five days.

Hopefully Isaiah wouldn't do anything stupid. He was no fool, but fighting off six men while practically unarmed was rash. Carrying her at a full sprint through most of the dungeon corridors was considerate, but unnecessary. And trying to break down a portcullis with bare hands was downright ridiculous.

She suddenly felt as though she had walked into a conversation halfway through. Everyone else laughed about a joke, but she had missed the punch line. The pieces just wouldn't come together.

The door crashed open again, only minutes after Sir guy left. Evey had no time to wonder what was happening, or even to fight back. Before she knew it, both wrists had been locked into a set of wall manacles. They were lower than the other sets, obviously for smaller victims. She felt sick. Clearly smaller victims were both expected and planned for.

So this was her punishment for insulting Sir Guy. It was acutely uncomfortable, and her arms had only just recovered from the rack, but she resolved to take it without a word. Sir Guy would not get the satisfaction of hearing her cry, or shout, or even complain.

She glanced over to the square space in the wall. There was just enough light for her to meet the gaze of two dark eyes. She returned the look with a glare that could have silenced a thunderstorm. Immediately the iron slide slammed shut, and she was left alone once again.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

On the day of her execution, Evey woke to the sound of the cell door screeching open. She didn't have the energy or the will to struggle when the guards unlocked her restraints. As her manacles clicked open, she fell straight to the ground and didn't move until long after the guards left.

Her arms were iron and her legs were jelly. After the long days of hanging from the wall, being heaped on the floor was the most comfortable thing she'd experienced in her life.

That's when it really hit her. Her life. It was nearly over. Only sixteen years old and she was about to be hanged as a traitor. Maybe she deserved it for what she'd done.

No. That was stupid. Wanting the best for one's country and people was not treason. She was not a traitor for trying to improve life for a few innocent families. She would still be branded one, but she would face it with a clean conscience.

But sixteen! She was so young. There was so much she had left to do. So many people left behind.

"Goodbye Emeric," she whispered feebly into her sleeves. "I'm sorry I can't help you anymore. Thank you for everything. Goodbye Robert. I'm sorry I hated you so much. I don't suppose you really deserved it. Goodbye Isaiah..."

Her voice gave out. It wasn't so hard to leave Robert or his father, but as she whispered her lonely goodbyes, she found that she wasn't ready to leave her friend. It hurt too much.

She tried not to think about it, but no matter what she hummed, or pictured, or recited, one face kept swimming to the front of her mind. She tried to be brave. She tried to make him go away, as she had with the others, but he wouldn't leave.

Deep down, she didn't want him to. If there was one person she could take with her, it would be him. Well, not to be executed, but if she were allowed an escort, or a last word, he was the only one she could possibly choose. She couldn't bid him farewell yet.

"Isaiah, I'm so sorry. I hope you're okay. I hope you made it out. Please be happy. Please be safe."

She started to cry. There was very little water in her body, so her tears were small and thick. She wanted to stop, but she couldn't help it. They came until she had nothing left.

"I've got to think of something else," she mumbled to herself.

She wanted to face her end bravely. With enormous effort, she crawled forward a few steps, but collapsed again, and buried her face in the tattered remnants of her cloak.

"Alright, then. Not goodbyes. Hellos. Hi mother. Hi father. I'll be coming up to see you soon. I guess it's a lot sooner than any of us planned. I'll finally be able to know you. I can't wait."

The truth was she could wait. She wanted to have to wait, but there was no point in getting emotional again. She had to look at the bright side of things, or Sir Guy and his minions would know. They would enjoy her execution far too much. If it was the last satisfaction she ever had in this life, she would stare him down. He would be haunted by her memory for years.

She needed to be able to look him in the eye, which meant she had to move. She didn't want to. She was so comfortable balled up on the ground. But she had to do it. And so, despite her protesting limbs, she stood and walked laps around the cell until her movement was smooth and dignified. Ish.

To her surprise, the guards gave her breakfast. It was only moldy bread and stagnant water, but she could have eaten twice as much of it, as hungry as she was. After she ate, she stretched out on the floor to sleep as long as she could. Sleeping in manacles didn't work so well.

Then her last minutes would be truly meaningful. She could spit in Sir Guy's face and perhaps even stomp on his toe. She would be able to see and hear everything. Somehow, knowing the details made things less frightening.

Someone shook her. She tried to brush the hands away, but they were firm. For a moment she thought she was in her own bed again, being shooed away by a servant who was trying to clean.

"What?!" she shouted, while sitting bolt upright, though her eyes refused to open. She suddenly remembered where she was and braced herself for a blow to the head. It didn't come.

"Sorry, m'lady, but I was sent to give you these."

Evey cracked one eye slightly. The speaker was an old servant, dressed in patched clothes and a threadbare shawl.

"Who are you?"

"Just take them, m'lady."

Before she could ask anything else, the woman dashed out the door again, pulling it closed behind her. Evey sat in a half-awake stupor. She looked at the bundle she had been given. They were clothes. Not just that; they were clean clothes. Just simple woodland attire, but they were fresh and relatively new. She hardly wanted to put them on, being so grimy herself.

Who was that woman? And how had she gotten into the dungeons? Perhaps this was a common courtesy to all the prisoners on their last morning. It was considerate to let them die in something nice. But that was exactly why it couldn't be the custom. Sir Guy was not a considerate man.

There was even a cloak with the clothes, very similar to her old one. It was green and gray, just right for sneaking around in the forest. Only one person knew how well she used her cloak to hide in the trees. There could be only one reason for needing it now.

"Isaiah?"

The castle was literally a fortress. There was no way that Isaiah would go through the trouble of sneaking into the dungeons without trying to get her out at the same time. Then what was he up to? She hid her face in her palms.

"Please let it not be him. Anyone but him."

A little while later, three guards came in. They dragged her roughly to her feet, tied her at the hands, and pushed her out the door. The twists and turns they took were familiar to her as they marched out of the dungeon, past the newly repaired portcullis.

At the top of the stairs, they emerged into the early morning sunlight, which hit her eyes like knives. After fifteen days in a dim cell, it took a good while before she could really see again. By the time she could, they had rounded one of the keep's towers, and she could see the vast courtyard as it stretched out before her.

"I see you enjoy your new clothes."

She turned to see a lavishly dressed Sir Guy of Gisbourne.

"What?"

"Your clothes. I had them sent down earlier. I figured you wouldn't wear them if I brought them myself."

Evey didn't reply. Sir Guy had sent the clothes. She was both disgusted and relieved. At least that meant that Isaiah hadn't been behind them.

"I suppose you're wondering why?" Sir Guy continued, as though they were sharing a pleasant afternoon tea. "Well, it's a bit of cleverness on my part, you see. Those rags you had were hardly distinguishable from the stone walls. And we are suppressing a dangerous rebellion, after all. It would be far more effective if you are recognizable as you're hanged."

"You're despicable."

She spat at him. It was just as satisfying as she had expected. He drew a silken handkerchief from a pocket, wiped the spit from his face, and then smiled.

"Nothing is going to ruin this day for me," he said decisively, although his voice was slightly strained. "I will capture my mortal enemy and watch you hang at the same time. I can't think of a better way I'd rather spend my morning."

He walked off, and the guard shoved Evey forward once again. They entered the courtyard, and now she could see the gallows. Her entire body went numb. This was it. This was the end. She wasn't ready for this. She couldn't go now.

It took all of her willpower to keep her head up as she marched to the wooden platform.

The yard slowly filled with merchants and spectators. Soon, the place was so packed that there was barely standing room. Evey tried not to take it personally. Things were always this way at big executions.

She'd never been to one, but she heard the stories. There were a few craftsmen in her own village that made the long journey down if a particularly notorious brigand was up for hanging. Unlike at home, they could make big money. The people here could afford to spend a few extra silvers.

Over to the left, a fanfare played. Evey looked up to a covered veranda. It came off the second or third floor of the main keep. The king entered from a door in the keep and sat in the plush middle chair, surrounded by several advisors. Among them was Sir Guy, looking as if Christmas had come early. She also noticed Sir Robert, who was markedly less pleased with the choice of entertainment.

"If he only knew," she whispered.

"Silence for Sir Guy of Gisbourne, knight of the realm and Chief advisor to the king!" The herald's voice, honed from years of practice, pierced through the ambient noise of the crowd. Silence gradually settled on the courtyard, and Sir Guy stood to address them.

"We are here," he called out, "to witness justice at work! We gather together to praise the greatness of our king!"