Chapter VIII

 

THE TREES were rustling overhead and yet there was no wind. Griffith sat up in the grey dawn light and cast his eyes above him.

Ellie rose up on one elbow, blinking sleepily. “What is it?” she murmured.

He pressed a finger to his lips and pointed above their heads. “We are being watched.”

Griffith and Ellie had travelled deep into forest. The Wealden Archers held these woods through guerilla warfare for King John. They commanded the road between London and the port to France—the only thoroughfare Louis’s forces had to travel. Holding the road was strategically vital to the cause but without gold to maintain supplies, the archers would have to abandon the field to the French. Even loyal men, good and true, needed food to fight and Lady Elspeth was a valuable prize.

Griffith’s hackles were raised. Until this moment, he had not considered how he’d compromised Ellie’s safety in bringing her here. In another time he would have slit her throat himself to support his brothers-in-arms but no more. The conflict was no longer restricted to king and country against the Barons but was being waged within his own breast. Griffith desired the impossible—the safety of Lady Elspeth and a swift end to the civil war. One was not possible without sacrificing the other.

He drew her under his arm as a signal to the men watching that she was under his protection.

“Ellie, you must do exactly as I say. In short order, a band of men will drop from those trees and take us prisoner. We will be separated but they will not harm you if they believe you valuable for ransom. I will make sure of it. Now, stay close. For here they are.”

Ellie could hear nothing nor see any sign of imminent attack but she did as Griff instructed.

And then a buzz sounded above and a war cry of deathly power and her blood froze. Griff pulled her in tighter and covered her head as arrows sang around them.

Though she could not see, she could hear and a grunt of pain from Griffith chilled the blood in her veins. “Captain! Captain!” she cried as he slumped over her. A crimson stain showed through his tunic. An arrow was lodged in his shoulder.

“Oh God! What shall I do, Griff?” Ellie said frantically. “Shall I pull it out?”

“Aye, Ellie, you must remove it but gently.”

Griffith slumped to the ground, half-conscious. Ellie fell on the arrow and tugged without flinching. It dislodged after a brief struggle and Griff was white with pain. The crimson stain spread instantly over his tunic, a flow of blood that had to be staunched if he was to live.

“We yield!” she screamed at the invisible men in the trees. “The day is yours! My guardsman is wounded. If you be men and not cowards, show yourself and assist me in dressing his wound! I am Lady Elspeth, Countess of Dorset and I swear by all that is holy, I will bring a firestorm of warfare down upon your heads if this man dies!”

Griff grabbed her arm, half-fainting from the pain. “For God’s sake, do not threaten them, Ellie. They will take you at your word.”

“And so they should.” Ellie glared at the tree tops. “It is fear that makes cowards act like men. Show yourselves, I say!”

One of the archers, a lean bronzed man clad in buckskin and green felt dropped from the trees on a long rope that heretofore had been invisible to Ellie’s eye. “Cease your caterwauling. I am here at your service, my lady. What is the trouble?”

“One of your arrows has wounded my man—that is the trouble! We were attacked without cause or provocation and now Captain Griffith is wounded.”

“The provocation for this attack is your attack against King John, my lady. The Barons—of which your father is one—are the capital offenders, but as we did not find them on the road, the Countess of Dorset will do just as well.”

“My father is only doing what he believes in—that is not a crime. There is no justification for highway murder! If the captain dies, I shall kill you all. Mark you!”

The archer laughed as he bent over Griffith. “Your man will not die. It is but a flesh wound. A small tear in the shoulder, but not dangerous. We’ll patch him up back at camp. A poultice, a draught of mead, and he will be as right as rain.”

Ellie spun around, her eyes on the trees. She was teary and hot with rage. Her face was red and she made fists with her hands. The attack had been swift, terrifying and ended abruptly. “Where are the others? How many of you are there?”

“For this mission, only four, but you will not see them. They shall remain hidden in the trees, bows at the ready, so do not imagine you can escape. You ought to be grateful your guard was wounded before he could fight back,” said the archer, helping Griffith to his feet. “Had he been able to reach his bow and arrow he would surely have been killed. Come now, Countess. Take his other arm and help me get him into the cart. He is weak from blood loss.”

Ellie slipped under the captain’s arm and almost crumpled under his weight bearing down on her shoulders. But bear it she would. She would bear anything for him now. Between the two of them, they managed to load Griffith onto the back of the vegetable cart. It was too small for his size and she had to sit behind him to hold him on board.

Their captor snapped the reins and the mule pulled forward, dutifully carrying them ever deeper into enemy territory—to the camp of the Wealden Archers.

 

ELLIE’S HAIR hung in a tangle down her back and her face was smeared with dirt, but she appeared unharmed. The camp was still rising in the early morning. Cooking fires were being lit and the canopy of ropes and hammocks were almost invisible in the smoke and mist.

Dark and hostile eyes watched their progress. The daughter of a baron was not welcome in the Weald and Griff gripped Ellie’s arm tighter as he escorted her to the tent set aside for her use. A wench had been tasked with the job as maid for her ladyship until such time as Ellie left the company. As for Griffith, Cassingham had ordered the captain to be brought to his tent as soon as his wound was dressed.

“What does he want with you?” Ellie asked as they reached her tent. “You have been wounded. I will send word to this Cassingham that you are to remain with me.”

Griff shook his head. “Nay, my lady. Remember what I told you. They would separate us. You must be brave now. Say as little as possible and trust no one. Spies will be watching and listening. I will return as soon as they are finished interrogating me. It will not take long as I have nothing to tell them. Your maid will bring you breakfast. Make sure you eat. You will need your strength.”

Ellie nodded. Her eyes were wide and filling with tears. He turned away before he could feel the sting of self-loathing. Since arriving at his camp, he was almost sick with it.

 

CASSINGHAM GREETED him heartily. Griffith grinned at the sight of his old commander as the man clapped him on the shoulder. “It was necessary to wound you, Griff,” he chuckled as Griffith winced. “I’m not sure yet how best to use you. I might require your return to Dorset and if that be the case, I could not risk exposing your mission to her ladyship. How is she doing? I could strangle de Burgh for his impulse to sully the girl. We might have lost a valuable asset through sheer temper.”

“I share your sentiment. He sends his regards, by the way,” Griffith said, lowering his fatigued and sore body to a chair. “As for Lady Elspeth, she is doing as well as can be expected. I am glad to hear your opinion about de Burgh’s methods. It was folly. Tyndale will not reject her because she is no longer a maid. If he does, I will put him down for a fool and take Canterbury back from him as one does candy from a baby.”

Griffith accepted the cup of mead Cassingham offered him and drank. The camp had well and truly stirred to life beyond the canvas walls of the tent. He wondered how Ellie was faring with a prostitute for a handmaid and smiled to himself.

“Unfortunately for Lady Elspeth, you are not wrong.” Cassingham grimaced and planted his hands on his hips. “We have already had word. Tyndale wants her back. He’s been given the gory details, complete with the name of the man tasked with deflowering his bride-to-be and he cares not. His love for the lady is so great that he demands her safe return.”

Griffith’s intestines twisted with jealousy. “What of it? We were charged with returning her either way.”

“The situation has changed, Griff. We cannot allow her to marry Tyndale.”

He straightened. “We have done all we can do to prevent it and failed. She will not be married long, if that is your concern. I mean to make her a widow before harvest.”

Cassingham shook his head. “You mistake me. We cannot allow her to marry Tyndale. You must see that. You have brought the Countess to our camp.”

Griff raised his eyes to meet the commander’s. His heart was hammering in his chest. “Aye, so I did, then let me assume the risk and responsibility for her ladyship. I shall return her to Dorchester Castle instead of Canterbury, none the wiser for this detour.”

“But she is the wiser, is she not? She has seen our faces. She knows where to find us.”

“Ellie is a fool!” snapped Griffith. “The girl cannot put one foot in front of the other without a servant assisting her. She is an asset to our cause. Her ransom alone could provide us with enough gold to win the war!”

“A ransom that has already been declined once and is unlikely to be paid on a second petition. When she was still a virgin, her father would not pay. She is no longer a virgin and her bridegroom says he will marry her anyway. She has no value, Griff. If anything she has become a serious liability. She was seen too much and I daresay, heard more than enough. We cannot release her to Tyndale so that he might question her, and she cannot return to her father.”

“What are you suggesting?” Griffith banged his cup down on the table. “Cassingham, the girl has done nothing wrong. Ellie was not supposed to be here from the first. She left the safety of the carriage to come to my aid and she has had everything taken from her for her pains. What manner of men have we become?”

“Men who are starving!” roared Cassingham. “Men who are desperate and without conscience! Shall I tell you what King John did to the last archer who betrayed him? He had the boy’s hands cut off. That boy was one of my pupils. He’d got caught up in a siege, fool that he was and looked only to stay alive. His hands were chopped off for treason—that was his reward for his pains. That is the manner of men we are.”

Cassingham slumped into a chair and rubbed his face wearily. “We are not men at all. We are devils who will not rest until we have our country back. Look you to it, Nottingham. Speak not to me—nay, nor to any of this company of Lady Elspeth’s innocence.”

“The girl has nothing to do with her father’s treachery,” Griff said, trying one last time to reach his commander.

“Perhaps not.” Cassingham mopped his brow. “But she will profit by it when she has that coronet on her head. They all do. She will sell out her countrymen to the French for profit at the same time she is bemoaning their lack of loyalty. And for that reason alone, my conscience is clear. She will be taken into the wood this day and shot through the heart. She will feel no pain, Griff. I promise you.”

Cassingham watched the younger man’s reaction closely. Griffith of Nottingham appeared unmoved. The only sign of distress in Cassingham’s best archer was a slight tremble in his hand as he lifted the cup to his mouth. And his complexion had paled. However, both symptoms could be attributed to his wound. Cassingham was reassured Nottingham had not developed an attachment to the girl after taking her maidenhood. Edgar claimed they were asleep in each other’s arms when he came upon them. Cassingham took the report with a grain of salt. Edgar had no knowledge of how a spy conducted his work and the role Griffith had to play with the lady to gain her trust. Nevertheless, it was a relief to Cassingham to see the young archer still had mastery over his emotions.

Griffith of Nottingham was a large man. So broad in the chest and shoulders that when Cassingham had first clapped eyes on him, he did not believe the boy would ever make an archer. A broadsword was better suited to his size, or an axe. But a bow and arrow? Not even the great Cassingham could make an archer out of such an ox.

But Griffith proved to be the best student of all. He had grace, self-control, and absolute patience. The lad had nerves as steady as a rock, even under fire. And most valuable of all—Griff had an eagle’s eye. He was simply the best.

And Cassingham could not in good conscience, trust Lady Elspeth’s execution to anyone less than his best marksman.

“She must die today and Griffith of Nottingham it is you I am ordering to kill her.”

 

ELLIE SAT patiently as the girl worked the comb through her hair, freeing it of twigs and leaves. The tent was warming as the sun rose, though it would never get too warm under the forest canopy.

“Have you lived here long?” Ellie enquired politely.

“All my life, my lady. I was born here.”

“Oh my. All of your life in a forest. That is unusual. Where are your mother and father?”

“Both are dead. They died in the last outbreak of plague when I was thirteen and I went to work soon after. I started out peeling potatoes and such as that but it was not long afore one of them decided I was better suited to harlotry so I took that up instead.”

Ellie’s face grew hot. The girl was a filthy scrap of a thing. She did not look old enough to be finished with dolls much less meeting the carnal needs of the archers.

“What is your name?” Ellie asked.

“I’m not allowed to say, my lady. You might tell one of your noble gentlemen and I’ll get my head lopped off for my civility. Begging your pardon, ma’am, but you did threaten Edgar with a firestorm and it stuck in my head that you might turn on us all.”

“I made that threat in the heat of the moment. My guardsman was wounded and I had appealed for assistance and none came. I was desperate. I’m sorry if I alarmed Edgar.”

The girl squinted at her suspiciously. “Who told you his name was Edgar?”

“You did,” Ellie said, flustered. “You said it just now.”

The girl nodded but appeared unconvinced. “Edgar is a fine man. He and me are going to set up house one day when this business with the French is over and the rightful king is on the throne again.”

“That sounds very nice for both of you.” Ellie winced as the comb hit a snag. “I myself was on my way to meet my betrothed when Captain Griffith and I were attacked and abducted.”

A sly grin spread across the girl’s pinched face. “Aye, that’s becoming quite a habit for you and your guardsman, or so I’ve heard tell.”

“We have been unlucky of late.”

“Oh my, very unlucky. Though I shouldn’t say so if it were me in your place with a man like Captain Griffith.”

The girl met Ellie’s eyes steadily until she was forced to look away. Ellie burned with shame. It was as if the wench knew what had happened between her and Captain Griffith at Dover Castle.

“In any case,” Ellie said weakly, “Whatever has happened, I am to marry soon too and I shall not let kings or lords or civil war to prevent my wedding.”

“So you love the man,” the girl stated in a flat voice.

Ellie was forced to shake her head. “No, I do not love the man. I only meant that I would not allow the politics of men prevent me from getting what is my rightful due as a woman.”

“Humph.” The girl frowned and seemed to be considering this. “I believe you have a point, my lady. I believe I will say this very thing to Edgar tonight when he returns. What do I care whose kingly arse is warming the throne? It is naught to do with me. I want to be wed and soon as.”

A smile split the wench’s face and Ellie burst out laughing at the thought of King Louis arse.

The girl joined her ladyship in the hilarity until Lady Elspeth laughing so hard she could hardly breathe. The girl knew it was from nerves more than anything but a good belly laugh was a tonic to hear from a lady as fine as a Countess.