Heart of Sherwood Read online

  "But you need to promise, on your oath before God, that if I bring you the full plan, and everything goes as I report, that you will let her go," Will declared in earnest supplication.

  A twisted smile tugged at the corner of the Sheriff's mouth. "Am I not a nobleman? Cannot my word be trusted? I pledge this, thief–if your word is true, then mine shall be as well. If your information leads to the capture or death of that accursed Robin Hood, you and your mother will be safe. Now, bring me particulars of this scheme quickly, lest I begin to believe you have played false with me and your blessed mother to save your own skin."

  "I'll return in a week with all that I can learn, and if the strategy is not complete or if it changes, I'll come again to tell you more after that." He thought he could buy time that way. If he could string the Sheriff along, feeding him just enough truth to be convincing, but not enough to endanger his friends… it was so thin a line as to be non-existent.

  Will cursed himself. He wished to die, but he had to save his mum. What would any man do in his stead? He would never betray Maid Marian, never tell of her involvement! He could never give up the location of their camp, exposing them all; thankfully, Nottingham believed the story about that. But what could he do? Should he tell Robin? Could the gang rescue his mother, or would an attempt merely get her killed? His heart was rent, his soul twisted, and he was released to deceive the very mates whom he loved. He could see no other course.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Worcestershire, October 16, 1193

  Queen Eleanor was seated on a velvet cushion in her carriage across from her escort and student, John Marshall, Sir William's nephew. They had spent the last several weeks traveling from castle to manorial estate throughout southern England to call upon the noble families to do their part in volunteering hostages for security against the king's ransom. They were greeted with hospitality and respect at each household as they compiled a list of names. Eleanor found the task physically and emotionally draining, but to see the optimism in her expression and hear the power in her voice, one would never know.

  Eleanor had been instructing Squire John in lessons on chivalry and courtly love when feeling a difference in the surface of the road, she looked through the carriage window to spy a quaint village of half-timbered cottages with creeper-clad walls and thatched roofs. There were picturesque gardens, what had not been taken by the frost, and St. Mary's church with its distinctive herringbone pattern stonework. They took a turn south and proceeded up Bredon Hill where Elmley Castle lay in a sea of meadows. Originally an earthworks and wooden castle, like scores of others throughout England, its stone enhancements had been added during Henry's reign.

  "I have heard my father speak well of the Beauchamps," John stated. "Certs they will not disregard their honorable duty."

  Eleanor turned to him with her most charming smile. "Let us do our best to convince them."

  *~*~*

  Baron William de Beauchamp, along with his wife and two legitimate sons were seated at the lord's table on cushioned chairs with plates of food and cups of wine placed in front of them. Several knights sat at a table taking their noonday meal while a domestic swept old straw into neat piles which he would remove before scattering the fresh.

  But Eleanor's keen eyes were drawn to a stalwart young man who rested alone by the hearth drinking from a tankard. His dress was finer than the underlings yet not so rich as the baron's sons. Curls of flame sprang from his head with a matching wisp of a mustache clothing his upper lip. His attention was on her, aware hers was on him, but he did not stir or speak.

  "Milord, your hospitality is exceptional and most appreciated," Eleanor said after a short while of small talk. "But I am sure you know by now the purpose of my visit today."

  "Indeed, we are aware of the situation," the elderly Beauchamp acknowledged. "My family is most loyal to England and the crown, as evidenced by the Welsh barons and rouge highwaymen I have turned away in my time as baron.

  "We are most grateful for your faithful service," she replied. "But in this critical hour it is not your military that I require, but rather a volunteer from the noble house of Beauchamp to travel to Germany on behalf of his King."

  Walter, who had been silent during the meal snapped his eyes to his father with resolve. "I have only recently taken a wife, and must stay with her until a healthy son is born. I am heir to the title and estate and cannot risk my life on some knight's errand with no successor of my own. It would be foolhardy and irresponsible."

  William turned his gaze away from Walter hopefully toward Geoffrey.

  "Don't look at me!" the young man exclaimed. "I've not yet completed my tutelage. Furthermore, I am to compete in the spring tournaments. How am I ever to become a knight of renown if I miss my first two years of competitions? All of my peers will be ahead of me and I will never catch up. You promised I would not be required to go, Father. Now, make Walter do his duty."

  "You cannot speak to Father that way!" Walter declared in a raised voice. "You are the youngest, the one with no title, no wife, no responsibility."

  "I have too got responsibility, Walt. And I grow weary of your ordering me about!"

  "Boys, enough!" The baron eyed them each with icy darts cold enough to snuff out their heated debate. "My apologies, Your Highness," he said in a softer tone, raising his palms as if in surrender. "This has been the argument in my household for the past fortnight. But do not be troubled or think less of us. The Beauchamp family shall fulfill our obligations to king and country." Eying his sons, he continued sternly. "You two boys forget that I am still lord of this castle and father over you, and as long as you wish to gain money or land or live under my roof and protection, you will do as I decide–not as you bloody well please. Is that understood?"

  His sons scowled, Walter crossing his arms and Geoffrey kicking the table leg. They both drooped their heads while tension hung in the room.

  It was then that Eleanor once again became aware of the quiet red haired fellow by the fire. He abruptly stood with the bearing of an aristocrat and the physique of a warrior. "I'll go."

  All attention spun to the young man as he casually sauntered across the hall toward them. "It would appear that Lord Beauchamp's legitimate sons have far more important things to do than rescue their King from his captivity, while I, on the contrary, have nothing to lose and everything to gain by the venture."

  Eleanor liked him straightaway.

  "Uh," the baron stammered and wiped his face with a wrinkled hand. "My apologies for not introducing my other son, Aylwin. His mother…"

  "I'm the embarrassing bastard of the family," Aylwin acknowledged good-naturedly. "My mother died when I was twelve and when Father discovered I was being shuffled off to a monastery, he feared his unfortunate secret would get out." In courtly fashion, he bowed before Eleanor. "Your Highness, I am your humble servant."

  "Aylwin, that is not why I brought you here," Beauchamp stated in an embarrassed hush. "Is that truly what you thought all these years?"

  A bit of the smugness faded from the young man's ruddy face. "Why else? You never acknowledged me before that day and still have not given me your name."

  The baron swallowed, old pain returning to his haggard aspect. "Your mother," he began, then glanced to his wife who stood in the background with her arms wrapped around herself. "I spoke with her about bringing you to live in the castle to be raised with your brothers, numerous times, but she would not hear of it. You were all she had, and somehow she needed you more. She would say, 'Will, you have two other sons while Aylwin is my world.' I felt it would have been cruel to take you from her. But when I learned she had passed… I was not so worried about my pride or reputation as you imagine. Many barons, even earls, counts, and kings father children outside their marriage; it is a common occurrence though not one of which to boast. I may have caused problems for myself through mistakes along the way, but you son–you are no mistake, nor do I think of you as such."

  Aylwin lowere
d his head, blazing tresses falling across his eyebrows. "Then why did you never acknowledge me outside this household? Why have you not given me your name?"

  "You are not stealing my inheritance!" Walter shouted as he leapt to his feet. "Aylwin, you may be first born, but you are nothing but a Scot's bastard. You will never be baron of this estate!"

  "Walter!" A sharp and sudden sound came from Jeanne's lips. She stepped to her fair son and pleaded, "Please sit; let your father handle this." He huffed and scowled, but sat at his mother's request.

  Aylwin straightened and shot Walter a disdainful glare. "I've no ambition of taking your title or birthright and if you ever paid any attention to me, you would know that." Then he dropped to one knee beside the Queen's chair so that his head was lower than hers. "Your Highness, I am a blood member of the noble Beauchamp clan and, if my father will testify to that in writing, I can uphold my family's honor as well as perform my duty to my King by traveling with you across the sea, a pledge against the ransom to release your son. My brother is correct in saying this castle will never be mine; let me prove myself to you, even as long ago another noble's son with no inheritance of his own did." He and John exchanged a look, for he was referring to Sir William Marshall.

  Eleanor turned her face to Beauchamp, eyes lit with expectancy. "What say you, sir? Shall this young man represent your family to the King?"

  "Yes, send him," young Geoffrey concurred. "He is always wanting to be part of this family, so let him fulfill this duty and prove that he is worthy of your name."

  Beauchamp's tension eased, and a smile crept into his eyes. "Aylwin Duffy de Beauchamp," he stated, "is the, until now undeclared, seed of my loins. However, today I am proud to call him son, and honored that he has volunteered himself to take the place of our beloved King Richard." Then he looked from Eleanor to Aylwin and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Under the law, Walter is first born, the son of my lawful wife. But it was never my intent to cause you to feel any less my son."

  Aylwin's eyes glistened as he rose and clasped forearms with his father. "Thank you," he said simply. "I will make you proud."

  To the side, two youthful blond men frowned with narrowed brows in obvious jealousy, but Queen Eleanor's countenance bore a knowing and grateful smile.

  *~*~*

  Nottingham Castle, October 20, 1193

  Sheriff Godfrey Giffard was silent and brooding as he sat at table in his great hall. Although he had not spoken a word to them, he eyed the barons seated nearby with suspicion. He spied for signs in their demeanor, the quirk of their smiles, the tone of their voices, but could not be certain who among his peers was the Queen Mother's informant.

  The pompous, corpulent Bishop Albrec of Kirkstall stuffed his face with pheasant and pudding. He is doubtless guilty of gluttony, Giffard thought as he studied the clergyman. And I have heard rumors of his affinity for young boys–a good thing I have none. He took a solemn bite from his hand-sized loaf of white bread. But when he arrived after being attacked by the bandits, he seemed honestly afraid and offended. Unless he is a most excellent actor…

  Laughter roared from the other end of the table, rousing the Sheriff from his thoughts. "Hugh, tell us another!" implored Lambelin, Baron of Somerset as the nobles exchanged jokes

  "Indeed, I'd wager Lord le Clerc has tucked away in his mind the cleverest of jokes," Hugh suggested in anticipation. He gulped heartily from his goblet and then urged him on, saying, "Or is Cornwall void of levity?"

  "Very well," the silver-haired Raoul consented. "As it would so happen, I knew an old Bishop who had lost some of his teeth, and complained of others being so loose that he was afraid they would soon fall out. 'Never fear,' said one of his friends, 'they won't fall.' 'And why not?' inquired the Bishop. His friend replied, 'Because my testicles have been hanging loose for the last forty years, as if they were going to fall off, and yet, there they are still.'"

  The Sheriff shook his head and tried not to laugh, but the thought of the old man's family jewels hanging low and shriveled compelled a reluctant smirk. Then he eyed the Baron of Cornwall considering him while the others guffawed and downed more wine. Of the lot, I'd wager him to be the most intelligent and with the least grievance against Richard. Could he be the one?

  As the Sheriff sat scratching his chin, Sir Guy spoke to him with concern. "Are you well, Godfrey? You seem melancholy this eve."

  "'Tis nothing, Guy; my stomach is but a bit unsettled; that is all." He forced a friendly expression as he raised his eyes to Gisborne. You are the only one I am certain of, my old friend, he thought. He was about to excuse himself to retire when the evening's entertainment arrived.

  "My Lord Sheriff," a long pole of a man in colorful silks and floppy hat addressed him while three other men and four women in similar costume filed in behind him. The men all held instruments while the women in neck-plunging gowns and fog-thin veils had empty hands and bare feet. "We are pleased to perform song and dance for you this evening," he said with an elaborate bow. Then he clapped his hands and each member of the ensemble took their place. They opened with a jig, the men playing the lute, viol, recorder, and tambourine in three-four time, as the women proceeded to skip, leap, and spin about the open floor.

  Godfrey's mind was transported far from thoughts of espionage as his passions were stirred by the movement and melody, carried away by the sumptuous bodies of women writhing energetically before them. He would have any of them tonight– that was certain. But which one? The slender raven haired beauty, or the curvy golden-tressed delight? No, perhaps the brunette whose leaps and pirouettes caused his heart and groin to pound in tempo to the music… or the petite girl with ginger curls. He could see the sparkle in their eyes and the veils hid little of their exquisite faces. Maybe 'twas but a servant or guard who alerted the Queen, he thought. I can always start torturing confessions out of them tomorrow.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sherwood Forest, All-Saints Day 1193

  Robyn jogged along through the woodland at a moderate clip early that morning, having vowed to be back to camp in time for Friar Tuck's celebratory mass for the special Holy Day. There were a passel of holy days, it seemed, filling practically the entire calendar, one for this saint and that saint, and now all the saints who didn't have their own individual festival.

  But then again, peasants and serfs worked six days a week and often went without food. Winter brought rain and mud and bone-chilling cold, and between sickness and wars, life was precariously uncertain. She supposed it was fitting for the Church to create occasions for feasting and celebrating; it was a welcome reprieve from what for many was an otherwise dull existence. But not for Robyn. Her soul was filled with love and purpose, and after a night with Marian she felt as though she floated on air. Elation flowed through her like a crystal clear river and she was very much glad to be alive. She finally understood the Song of Solomon. Yes, the priests taught it was an allegory of God's love for us and ours for him, but the profusion of flowery 'lips like honey', 'ravishing of my heart', and 'longing to be together' took on a new, tangible meaning since she had experienced the power of those emotions.

  Dawn was just filtering in through the cloudy gloom and skeletal limbs of naked hardwoods. It always takes longer to get light in the mornings counting down to the winter solstice, she thought, and gets dark so early. Too much dark, and too hard to keep time. But she wouldn't be late.

  As Robyn neared the camp, she came upon Alan skipping his way in from the direction of Nottingham. "And where have you been, pray tell?" she asked as he stepped in pace beside her.

  "You know where I've been," he replied, with the same dreamy look in his eyes that hers held. "You aren't the only one what goes runnin' off to see his sweetheart."

  She gave him a sideways glance and grinned. "And do you have honorable intentions toward your maiden fair?"

  "You can bet your last shilling," he pronounced. "Liz is the apple of my eye, she is, and when we all get pardoned, I plan to make her an
honest woman, I do."

  Robyn smiled. "I am proud of you Alan, and happy for you as well."

  "What about you and Marian?" he asked.

  "That may be a bit more complicated," she answered, all levity vanishing from her voice.

  "Aye, what with her being an important noble lady and all," he sighed. "I'm sorry; didn't mean to-"

  "Fret not, Alan. What will be, will be. Today, I feel I am the luckiest bloke in the world." She raised her chin with renewed joy.

  As they approached the camp, people were bustling about, some dealing with the morning meal and others helping Tuck with preparations for the mass. Little John was sitting on a stump with three walnuts in his massive hand. He gave them a squeeze and Robyn heard them crack.

  She shook her head. "It amazes me the things you can do."

  "Oh, that is nothing," Little John answered jovially. "All it takes is a big hand with strong fingers. But what you two did, sending the youngsters on a nut gathering expedition–a stroke of genius! Now I'll have something to nibble on for the whole winter."

  As Robyn scanned the camp, she noticed Much sitting alone in dirty clothes, his face neither shaved nor washed. "What's wrong with Much?" she asked, her features drawing up in concern. "He hasn't been himself of late."

  "Aye," Little John agreed as he popped a walnut into his waiting mouth.

  "It's on account of Evelyn," Alan explained. "Pretty little gal who came with a family from Gisborne's manor. He is sweet on her, but she is promised to a craftsman in Nottingham. Her family wants a better life for her–can't blame them–and she is quite awestruck with her betrothed. I hate to admit it, but just between us, Much isn't that handsome."

  "Not everyone is blessed with your fair face and abundant charm," Little John commented.

  Robyn tilted her head toward Alan. "I didn't know we had acquired serfs from Gisborne's estate."

  Little John laughed. ". We have new folks from all over. Last week, when we robbed Baron Thomas of Acker's place, we rescued two men and a woman he had locked in hanging cages to let starve." He shook his head. "There's just no reasoning the things humans to do each other."