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The guards at the Nottingham forest gate had doubled, four men instead of two.
They were not pleased when confronted with two dead bodies, one dressed in the brown cassock of a friar. When Henry d’Airsey revealed the other corpse was Lord Polleone, the guards shouted and accused. Outnumbered, though, they listened to Henry d’Airsey explain that Polleone and his false friar were killed in fair battle.
For long minutes the guards huddled together, discussing what to do. Occasionally, they looked at the six people ahorse, waiting to be admitted to the town. Then they would focus on the bodies bound over the mule’s back.
Gil’s horse shifted, stretching the leading rein. The unhappily burdened mule lifted its head, flicked its ears forward, then hung its head, nose almost grazing the cobbles.
Will leaned out from behind d’Airsey. “We’re heading to the castle, you know. We’ve a report to make to Sheriff Maldeville.”
The guards ignored him.
“We’re a bit of a problem,” Will offered to no one in particular.
d’Airsey touched his quirt to his chest. “I think something else is going on,” but he didn’t speculate on what.
The two Faeries sat quietly on their horse, looking at the weathered wood palisade built atop a defensive berm. Green grass grew thickly between the palisade and the ditch. Only a trickle of water filled the ditch, for it hadn’t rained in a fortnight or more.
The guards parted, and two came to their party. “Radner here will guide you to the castle. He’ll ensure that you can pass the guards there.”
“Dismount,” Radner commanded. “Don’t want you ahorse and at my back.”
Gil slid down. Will groaned. “Didn’t want to walk that whole way,” but he dismounted. Otho came next, holding d’Airsey’s reins as his master dismounted. The Faeries were last on the ground. Hand on his swordhilt, Fenric looked right and left as they walked, not trusting the people thronging through the gate and along the streets.
They caught looks. Six men, leading their horses and following a town guard, would always attract attention. The stares lingered, though, and talk increased with their passage when people spotted the two corpses.
Closer to the castle, the crowds thickened. People milled about, clustered together, talking rather than doing business. Radner shouted, “Make way. Make way,” and the people stepped to the street sides. When they saw the corpses, they fell silent, watching as they passed.
Gil edged close to Will. “Something’s up. Something’s happened.”
Henry d’Airsey didn’t look around. “Radner! What’s happened?”
The guard paused, allowing d’Airsey to reach his side. “The prince arrived at noon.”
Will whistled. “Did he now? Thought he was expected at May Day. Took him a fortnight to find the way?”
“Yesterday,” Gil asked, “did a knight come in, driving a cart? He may have had a bard with him. Alan-a-Dale.”
He didn’t expect the guard to answer, but he did. “Don’t know about the knight. Didn’t work the gate yesterday. That bard Alan was at the Tinker’s Wife last night, though.”
Gil dropped back, joining Aubrette and Fenric. She nudged him with her elbow. “Why did you ask?”
“Sir Richard is before us to the sheriff. Hopefully, he mentioned that three guards tried to rob him. Those guards worked for Lord Polleone. That’s a strike against the count, before we bring in his corpse.”
“A strike against his honor, delivered by a man who could not be involved in his death. `Tis wise, that, friend Gil.”
“It’s all good evidence. Will has Haughton’s letter to Polleone, proving that they were conspiring to retake Haughton’s lands. d’Airsey can speak to their mistreatment and threat to the lady Marianne.”
Fenric growled and gave his first contribution. “Yet more evidence. The Haughton wears the brown cassock, the robes of a clergyman when he took no vows to your church. Yet this sheriff does not have to accept any evidence. He is a rot near to our bright forest.”
“The prince does have to accept good evidence. His arrival works in our favor.” He hoped. Robin and Will didn’t have a high opinion of Prince John. Gil had no opinion of the royal, not yet.
Radner waved at the guards at the base of the road that climbed Castle Rock. Supply wagons and merchants’ carts packed the ascent to the gatehouse. There above the dry moat, they encountered their first block, a congestion that clogged passage.
“Make way, make way!” Radner shoved people who were slow to listen to him. They protested being passed until they saw the horses, the sheathed swords and bows, and the two corpses. d’Airsey followed close behind the guard, then Will, Otho, the two Faeries, and last of all Gil, leading his horse and the burdened mule.
He didn’t like the looming walls of the castle. No wonder the sheriff, looking down from the height of Castle Rock, considered himself better than everyone who lived below.
Radner talked to the guards at the gate, then they were waved through.
The inner bailey teemed with movement. The merchants and suppliers gathered at the far wall, haggling prices, unloading their goods. Near the north wall, a guard unit drilled with pikes, giving Gil an itchy worry. Escape from the castle wouldn’t be easy.
A groom ran up, prepared to take their horses. Otho refused. “I’ll stay here, Master Henry.”
“We need a way to transport the bodies.” d’Airsey scowled. “Radner, what do you suggest?”
“Leave `em here.”
Will crossed his arms. “I don’t think Sheriff Maldeville will be pleased with that. He’ll want to see his friends and give honor to them. Trundling them in on a cart is not a solution, either.”
The guard frowned. “I’m not taking a mule into the Assembly Hall.”
“We need litters and four men to carry the bodies,” d’Airsey suggested. “Or we can have them laid out in the chapel. Your choice, Radner. Polleone was an honored guest of the sheriff at the May Day banquet.”
He huffed and scowled at the corpses. “Take `em off the mule. You, boy, get me a guard here.”
They waited and waited. A guard finally crossed the bailey to them. Radner met him and explained. While they talked, two more guards appeared, then a captain. Radner had to explain again.
The captain came to d’Airsey. “Sir, my guard names you as Henry d’Airsey, son and heir of Baron d’Airsey.”
“I am he.”
“He says that you allege these men attacked you.”
“That’s the simple version. When is any death simple, captain? I would explain what happened to the sheriff, so no false claims are lodged against innocent people.”
The man walked to the corpses. He flipped back the cloak that covered the French count. “Lord Polleone.” He looked around at d’Airsey. “The sheriff’s friend.”
“As I said, an explanation must be made.”
“And this man? A friar.”
“A man disguised as a friar. The former Baron Haughton. He attacked a man with a knife and suffered for it.”
“Huh. The former baron. Another acquaintance of the sheriff,” the captain mused. “I will not rule on this matter.”
“We wish to speak to the sheriff. Is he holding an audience?”
“Better to say that Prince John holds the audience while the sheriff attends him. Hold here a few minutes more, sir.” He walked over to the guards, gave a brief order. They headed off, and the captain returned. “Who are your friends?”
“William Radebourne, nephew of Lord Radebourne. I believe his aunt and his sister are visiting the castle?”
“Aye, that’s so.”
“Marshall Otho of d’Airsey. Gil Whitehand. Eldwood and Fenric.”
“Whitehand. Host at the Tinker’s Wife?”
“Aye, that’s me.” He nodded at the captain. “I was visiting my friends at d’Airsey Manor.” He gestured at Eldwood and Fenric.
“You’ll leave your bows outside the Assembly Hall. Keep your swords sheathed.” Four men came running, long cloths with them, and the captain broke away to give them orders. The men quickly bundled the corpses into the cloths and picked up the ends. “Radner,” the captain said, “you may return to your duty on the town gate. The rest of you, follow me.”
The captain led them to the south, to the Assembly Hall from which Sheriff Maldeville ran the town. Past that were the Royal Apartments which housed honored guests to the castle. The prince would bed there.
The entrance to the Upper Bailey was a maze of passageways. Gil sighted everything, wanting to remember it for Robin. Before the climb to the Royal Apartments and the Chapel Courtyard, the captain turned into a shadowed passage, a tunnel with arching vaults that captured their footsteps and echoed them back, doubling and tripling the sound.
At the end of the vaulted tunnel was a tall door. A guard stood there, watching their approach. His gaze rested heavy on the bodies slung between the four men while the captain explained their mission. Then he opened the door.
The echoes died as they passed and the door shut behind them.
High windows admitted the brilliant May sunshine. Shafts of light poured into the hall, cold and empty. From there they passed to an entrance hall. Banners hung from crossbeams below the vaulted ceiling. Courtiers milled about while guards stood stiffly at doorways.
The captain led their little parade to double doors blocked by four guards, two in the red-and-gold tabards of royal livery. He slowed, gave an order that Gil couldn’t hear, then the double doors were opened, and they entered another vaulted hall, this one lit by sunshine and wrought iron lanterns with candles suspended from the ceiling and iron torchieres that held individual candles. The number of lights awed Gil.
Courtiers stood on either side of the hall. A few clustered before a dais backed with banners, the centermost a bright red with three golden lions. A single high-backed chair sat beneath the royal standard, and in it sat a gloomy man with reddish hair and a scruffy beard along his jawline. John Lackland, prince, clothed in gold and ermine and kicking one red-slippered foot against the purple bolster placed before the throne.
Beside him stood Sheriff Maldeville, wearing his favorite red robe. He’d slicked back his long dark hair, and his black beard was trimmed to a point.
The captain headed straight for the dais, and they had to follow.
Those at the dais fell to the side at their approach. The captain stopped and swept a deep bow that Henry d’Airsey and Will Scarlet echoed, so Gil thought he should copy them. The Faeries imitated them as well. The four men lowered their burdens to the floor then scurried to the side of the room, not wanting to be involved in what was to come.
“Captain Gaulter,” the sheriff announced, “what means this interruption?”
“Your highness, Sheriff Maldeville, these men bring sad news. The deaths of your friends Count Polleone and Baron Haughton.”
“What’s this you say? Their deaths?”
“Who?” the prince asked. “Who is dead?”
The courtiers broke into startled talk.
As the captain repeated the names, a man came from the assembled crowd. A white-haired old man joined d’Airsey, and Gil recognized Sir Richard of the Lee.
“Polleone,” the prince was saying, “I had a mission for him. He was to travel to France for me, with—.” He cast a crafty look around. “Now, Polleone cannot fulfill his vow to me. Someone else must do it. Maldeville, you will find this person. They must travel to France.”
“As you wish, your highness, but we must discover the reason that Count Polleone and Baron Haughton are dead. Their corpses bleed, I see. Who murdered them, Captain Gaulter?”
“I have asked no questions, sir. This man here, Henry d’Airsey, son and heir of Baron d’Airsey, he has said that he will explain.”
“That is a royal prince?” Fenric muttered. “He does not look royal.”
“Hush,” Gil warned. “You wouldn’t want him to hear that.”
Sir Richard straightened from a deep bow. “Sheriff Maldeville, you remember that yesterday I laid charges against Lord Polleone for sending his guards to rob me.”
The sheriff’s black brows drew together. “I remember that you allege he did so. Yet you gave no evidence, Sir Richard.”
“I am a knight, sir. I served in the Holy Land. I would not dishonor a man with such a charge if it were not true. His men, on his orders, attempted a robbery of me yesterday.”
“Robbery? You allege that Polleone was involved in robbery? Maldeville, you swore that he was a man well-suited for my mission.”
“Your highness, I believed that he was.”
“This knight says otherwise.”
“Captain, who are these other men?”
Will stepped forward and swept another bow. “William Radebourne, nephew of the earl of Radebourne, at your service, your highness.”
The prince gripped the arms of his chair. “I have heard of you. The disowned heir of Radebourne.”
Will grinned. “To my grief, your highness, aye, I am that Will Radebourne.”
“I have a petition before me from your aunt, wife of the earl.” John Lackland reached to the table on the left side of his chair and touched the parchments there. “From Lady Radebourne, stating that false statements caused your uncle to disown you. She pleads your reinstatement as heir for the lands of her family that would have come to you.”
“That’s brave of my aunt, your highness. My uncle will not be pleased with her petition. Knowing him, he won’t listen to anyone less than a holy man who has the ear of God.”
“A holy man with the ear of God?” Aubrette whispered. “That can be arranged.”
The prince waved a limp hand back and forth. “Who are these others with you, Radebourne? They are not of your class.”
“They witnessed the actions of Lord Polleone and Baron Haughton. Polleone and Haughton threatened Lady Marianne, daughter of Baron d’Airsey and sister of Henry. The baron intended to steal back the lands that the king, your brother, took from him, lands that the Lionheart gave to the d’Airseys.
“As part of this plot, Haughton disguised himself as a holy man, a friar, and pretended to be Lord Polleone’s confessor. He brought shame upon himself, disguising himself as a false friar. I saw Haughton here, in the dining hall, at the May Day banquet, standing behind the dais.” Will reached into his jerkin and brought out a folded parchment. “I have here a letter, from Haughton to Polleone, outlining their plan to retake the lands.”
The prince held out his hand.
Will stepped to the dais, mounted the single step, and bowed as he placed it in John Lackland’s hand. Then he stepped back until he once more stood beside Henry d’Airsey.
The prince didn’t look at the letter. Leaving it folded, he placed it with the other parchments. “Is that the only letter of Polleone’s that you have?”
“It is,” Will said, but he crossed his hands behind his back. Gil, seeing that, knew that Will lied.
What other letter could Will have that belonged to Polleone?
“I have no concern for letters,” Maldeville snapped. “I would know how Count Polleone and Baron Haughton became corpses. Any charges you have against them are moot, for they lie dead. Especially when I have word that they were murdered.” He pointed to a man off to the right, who opened the side door behind him. “These statements you have against them merely muddy the muck you stand in.”
Two men entered through the side door. They strode to the dais and stopped at the corner.
“Your highness,” Maldeville continued, “these men were guards loyal to Count Polleone. They saw his death and the death of Baron Haughton. They will testify to what they saw.”
“Are they loyal to Polleone?” d’Airsey questioned. “I thought they were Haughton’s men, working for him against my family.”
The prince grimaced. “Maldeville, what are the facts? I do not like the facts to be questioned when brought before me.”
“They are the count’s men.”
“Are they?” d’Airsey countered. “They are English, not French. I would have it from their mouths.”
The prince scowled. “Well? You, answer me. Are you English or French?”
Neither guard wanted to answer. They looked at the floor. Eventually, one admitted, “English, yer highness.”
“Baron Haughton’s men?”
“Aye, yer highness.”
“Can the word of these men be trusted?” Will drove to the heart of their evidence, hoping to undermine it.
The guard looked around. “Yer one to talk. I recognize that fox-red hair. Yer leagued with Robin Hood.”
A clamor broke out among the courtiers. Gil gaped, stunned. That accusation was the last thing he expected. Then fear shivered over him. Will they accuse me next?
“I am not,” Will denied loudly.
“I seem to remember,” the sheriff reflected, “that one of Robin Hood’s men is called Will Scarlet. Are you in league with Robin Hood? Did Robin Hood kill Lord Polleone?”
“I am not that man. And it wasn’t Robin Hood today who fought Lord Polleone. It was Robert of Locksley.”
“Robert of Locksley?”
“Locksley?” the prince echoed. “Then where is he? Why is he not before me? He fought Lord Polleone. Did he kill him?”
d’Airsey and Will exchanged a look, then d’Airsey said, “Polleone challenged Locksley to a duel. The Frenchman had attacked my sister, and she had to flee our manor. Locksley found her and protected her. He was returning her to the manor, and we—we were searching for her. We encountered them on the road, and Polleone—.” He stopped, truth tangling with fabrication that needed to sound like truth.
“Polleone was raging,” Will stepped in to finish the story. “He cursed Lady Marianne, and Locksley defended her. Polleone then challenged Locksley to a duel.”
“Is this true? Guard, is this true? Did they fight a duel?”
“Aye, yer highness.”
“Was Lord Polleone killed in the duel?”
The guards exchanged a look. “Aye, yer highness,” the one guard reluctantly admitted.
“Then how did Haughton come to die?” Maldeville ground out the question. “Guard, one of you answer. How did he die?”
“He threw a knife,” one said and the other added, “That there archer shot him with an arrow.”
“Archer? Which one?”
“The one what won the competition on May Day.”
Aubrette stepped forward. She bowed to the prince. When she spoke, she deepened her voice even more than usual for her glamour as Clive Eldwood. “I shot the arrow, your highness. We were lucky that the baron’s aim was not true. He had aimed at Henry d’Airsey, a last act of revenge against a young man whom he hated. These guards then fled.”
The sheriff’s heavy brows seemed permanently stitched together. “You won the competition. I recognize you. Who are you?”
“Sir, I am Clive Eldwood.”
“Who do you work for?”
“No one, at the moment, sir. I am a veteran of King Richard’s army. My friend Fenric here served with me.”
Fenric nodded but said nothing.
“I see no crime,” the prince said. “Count Polleone died in a duel. Baron Haughton attempted a sly trick and died for it. I grieve their deaths. Unfortunate deaths, true, but not murder. We will bury Count Polleone and Baron Haughton with honors. More we cannot do.”
“More we can do,” Maldeville vowed. “Men, seize Will Radebourne.”
“What?” d’Airsey cried.
Will dodged away and ran. The courtiers scattered. Women screamed. Men shouted.
Gaulter tackled him. By the time he hauled Will to his feet, three more guards encircled them. “Your will, sir?” the captain called.
“We can house him very easily in the tower so recently vacated by Sir Richard’s son.”
“On what charge?” d’Airsey demanded. “The word of these guards? Slander, sir, slander. How can they call him a confederate of this Robin Hood when Robin Hood was no one around us? That man was Robert of Locksley. Will you arrest every red-haired man and claim he’s Will Scarlet? Will every tall man be called Little John?”
“Silence!” Maldeville roared. “We will detain Radebourne until we determine the truth. That should not be difficult.”
“Treat him well, Sheriff,” Sir Richard declared, his old voice ringing through the hall. “When this accusation is proved false, you will be held accountable for any injuries to Radebourne. His uncle the earl may have his complaints against this young man, but he will not wish his nephew mistreated and falsely accused.”
“Bah!”
“You dare,” the prince sneered, “you dare to threaten an officer of the crown? You dare to do this before me?”
“The sheriff is arresting a man who will be found innocent,” d’Airsey asserted.
“So you say” Maldeville retorted.
“It is truth!”
“Enough,” Prince John announced. “I have heard enough this day. Imprison this Will Radebourne. Leave him uninjured until the truth of his identify is known. We shall see if his uncle the earl will speak for him. Send for Earl Radebourne.”
Sheriff Maldeville watched Captain Gaulter lead Will from the room, the guards following close behind. “That proof will take time, your highness.”
“You will hold him safely until proof is found.” The prince rose. “I have had enough. I will retire now.” He swept from the dais.
Gil and the others stepped far back to let the prince pass. Guards fell in behind Prince John. Courtiers waited until he left the hall before they began chattering.
d’Airsey started to speak, but Aubrette motioned for silence. “Not until we leave this castle,” she warned.
They joined the crowd leaving the Assembly Hall.
Otho raised his eyebrows when he saw Will missing, but he asked nothing.
They crossed the inner bailey then left through the gatehouse, leading their horses down the still-crowded road. When they passed the last guards and before they reached the clustered buildings of the town, d’Airsey stopped. “What do we do? We can’t leave him in the sheriff’s prison.”
Sir Richard had come with them, joined by a young man with brown locks and steady brown eyes, alike his father only in his facial structure and the long bones of his frame. “We won’t. He may just want to hold him for ransom, same as he did me.”
“No,” Gil said, knowing for a surety that he was right. “He thinks he’s finally got a hook into Robin Hood. And he’s right. Robin won’t leave Will in gaol.”
“How can you get him out?” d’Airsey glanced up at the castle. “That’s a fortress. We don’t even know where he’s held.”
“In my old tower room.”
“But which one is that?”
“This is the trouble,” Sir Richard said gloomily. “One foot wrong when you deal with corruption will end with you in mucky mire.”
“A way will come,” Aubrette vowed, “in the proper moontime. Then he will fly free.”
