HUNTINGDON CASTLE
THE CAVILING LORD SIMON de Senlis was young for a leader, Marion noted, but no less imposing for his youth. His outfit embellished the features he lacked—it boasted conservative fashion in the military style, and shoulders that rivaled his horse’s. He looked a good deal more presentable than when last Marion had seen him, which was, admittedly, when they had snuck into his Grafham manor to steal from his treasury.
“I cannot allow such depravity to go unchecked,” de Senlis insisted, almost as if he actually believed this was an ethical burden, rather than a political opportunity. “I cannot allow such corruption to fester so close to my home.”
“Spare me your indignation, your incredulity,” Lord Robert returned, keen on calling out the spectacle for what it was. “Get to your point, man.”
Three days had passed since the council had crumbled in her hands. Each of its attendees—Marion’s grandparents included—had fled Huntingdon’s walls by nightfall, fearing whatever retribution Prince John would inevitably return with. None had yet come, but the news had clearly spread, as was evidenced by the day’s arrival of de Senlis and his men.
Marion was part of a line at the front gates of Huntingdon, with Lord Robert at its center—a crisp green demicape across one shoulder that bore his shire’s signature yellow hunting horn. That sigil also flew from atop long wooden poles carried by the bannermen at his sides. Her own modest dress featured a similar shade of the green, though she was uncomfortable with the loyalty it implied. Beside her, Amon’s shield still flew the white swords of Essex. A dozen of Robert’s men finished their line, blockading the entrance to Huntingdon Castle.
Across from them, their line was matched by Lord de Senlis and his host. The lord had brought nine men with him in full attire, a show of force that was disturbingly reminiscent of a battle formation. The main road was bordered on either side with yew trees, whose appreciable growth read less of beauty now and instead gave a spiderlike discomfort.
“My point is this.” Lord Simon de Senlis’s horse repositioned itself, though its rider kept a level gaze. “I demand you turn over the traitor, the outlaw known as Marion Fitzwalter, to my keeping. I will deliver her the justice that you seem incapable of offering.”
“If the Lady Marion were a traitor, as you say,” Lord Robert treated the word playfully, as though the concept were laughable, “then it would be your duty to bring her to your earl for punishment. I don’t suppose you know who your earl is, do you? A handsome man, I hear, this Earl of Huntingdonshire?” His men laughed. “Your earl is already in possession of the traitor you describe. Why would I hand her over to you just for you to hand her over to me again? I think you may find yourself in this transaction, as in the world, quite inconsequential.”
De Senlis waited his turn to speak. “Shall I sneak into your castle through an open window? Threaten to skewer your kitchen scullions, as you did mine? Or shall we try the novelty of dealing with each other honestly?”
Under better circumstances, Marion imagined she would find the Lord Simon de Senlis a respectable man. He carried himself with a practiced charm and took care in the construction of his speech. Education spoke to self-improvement, which forgave many the worser trait. But the worser trait, in this case, was calling for her head on a pike.
This was just the first fallout of her spectacular failure at the council. Each day brought the fear of punishment. If not the prince’s men, then a contingent loyal to the Chancellor would arrive to dole out his consequences. Lord Simon de Senlis, though a tepid threat on his own, was simply the first bounty hunter.
“I’m not here to play games,” de Senlis continued. “It is well known the Lady Marion held a concord of sedition within these walls, and you have ignored my petitions for her arrest. If you are unfit to do your duty as earl and bring punishment to an admitted traitor to the crown, then I take it upon myself to declare you as the witting accomplice you appear to be.”
Marion swallowed hard and clenched her jaw. Earlier, she had reluctantly agreed to remain silent in this meeting, but for the life of her now she could not find any wisdom there.
“Ever ambitious, Simon.” Lord Robert rolled his head side to side. “Suppose I pretend to be as innocent as you pretend to be outraged. What would you do with her? Bring her to the High Sheriff of Cambridgeshire and Huntingdonshire? Reginold de Argenton is a friend of mine, and will not entertain your groundless accusations. Again, you’ll find your efficacy somewhat wanting.”
“I have no interest in wasting Sheriff de Argenton’s time. Treason should be meted by the Chancellor himself. The choice is yours to make, your lordship.” De Senlis stiffened, though his tone carried no malice. “You can give the outlaw to me, or you can wait until I return with Chancellor Longchamp’s men by my side. If I were you, I would consider heavily whether or not you will still be able to call the castle yours at the end of such a meeting.”
The conversation, which was only barely an apt name for the meeting, concluded with a bit of posturing on both sides. It was, inarguably, a pleasant alternative to immediate bloodshed, which was a more common ending for the meetings Marion found herself involved in. Such violence was less frequent since Will Scarlet had left, but somehow it now seemed harder than ever to keep herself on the proper side of living.
“I think I don’t like him very much,” Lord Robert muttered as de Senlis’s complement vanished amongst the sinews of the yew trees. “All he cares about is this castle, trying to revive his father’s broken legacy.”
Marion chewed on her lip. “Well, we did try to burglarize his manor.”
“That’s true.” Lord Robert weighed the comment. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. I absolutely hate him.”
THERE WERE DISCUSSIONS TO be had, obviously, but Marion preferred to avoid the castle for so many reasons. Only the least of which was that it served as the setting for her greatest embarrassment. Beyond that, she wanted to avoid the Countess Magdalena at all times, and she did not want to leave Amon behind, who was still forbidden to step foot within its walls. But mostly, she just wanted the simplicity of her old friends.
Their tents and shacks littered the spattering of villages that accompanied the Cook’s Backwater. The stream was not big enough for game but served for most other purposes before meeting the Great Ouse at the base of the castle grounds. To her surprise, Lord Robert accompanied her, dismissing his retinue of men and horses back up the hill. His noble attire, while appropriate to give Simon de Senlis a talkdown, was comically out of place around John Little’s humble fire. Robert gathered more than a few lingering watchers from the neighboring hovels, but he seemed quite comfortable eating with his hands and sharing ale.
“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Robert mulled between sips. “I’m not handing you over to de Senlis, no matter how many men he brings back.”
“I appreciate that,” Marion smiled, “but you’re missing the point.”
“No.”
John Little said it gruffly, though it might have been half belch. The entirety of his massive frame was focused intently on Marion.
She wasn’t sure how to react. “What do you mean by that, John?”
“I mean no.” His jaw sidled horizontally, his beard rippled. “No, you cannot turn yourself in.”
“I never said I would.”
“But you’ll say it eventually. And the answer is no.”
As soon as he said it, she realized it was true. It was the natural conclusion to this sordid tale.
“Turn herself in?” Robert asked with some confusion. “Why would she do that? We’re more than capable of protecting her, and this situation is entirely my fault in the first place.”
“That’s not true,” she insisted.
“Well, it might as well be. Maggie … she put you in a terrible position, which has caused no small amount of friction between us. You were my guest, and whatever happens to you as my guest falls upon me. I should have stopped what happened. I—”
Marion reached her hand out and closed it over Robert’s forearm, forcefully enough to stop his sentence, but let it linger there. He meant well, but this wasn’t his decision to make.
“Robert, please. I’ve already wasted enough energy being angry with your wife. The truth is, nothing that happened is anyone’s fault but mine. The countess may have maneuvered me into an unfavorable position, but the leverage she held over me was entirely of my own making. The idea that you are responsible for me … well that implies I had no fault on my back when I came to you, which is anything but the truth.”
Robert’s eyes found hers, and whatever need to resist her seemed to melt away. John Little shook his head, giving her an unenviable stare. Even Tuck seemed to find the rare advantage of silence.
“But everything you’ve done—” Robert tried, but Marion just raised her hand.
“Everything I’ve done has been for the families I brought here. That’s where this started, and I’m trying not to lose focus on that. Helping them was all I originally set out to do—it was never about overturning the law or replacing Sheriffs or Kings or inciting a rebellion. Now I’ve brought them here at great cost…” Her voice faltered.
Robert returned her grasp, giving her wrist a firm squeeze. “They’re all under my protection.”
“And I’m afraid I have put you in danger as well, Robert.” She had to wipe the wetness from her eyes. “If the Chancellor names me traitor, you are right to fear he may claim your title, too.”
“He’s welcome to try.”
“He is indeed,” she said quite seriously. “And if he is successful then I think you’re also right in assuming that Huntingdon would return to de Senlis. And what of my people then? Do you think Lord Simon de Senlis will suffer to have any outlaws living on his lands? How can I pay that price, or the price that you will suffer—that anyone will suffer—all simply so I can go on pretending that my actions of the last few years should have no consequences?”
The fire crackled, and offered no answer.
She thought achingly back to a time, so recently, when she had thought of running off with her grandfather in search of her next big hurdle. The idea that her people here in Huntingdon were so safe that she could leave them was an impossible dream now. Their fate, and Robert’s, had become bound as one—and was on the opposite side of the wheel as her own.
“Are you asking us?” Tuck asked, his voice coarse. “Or telling us?”
“I’m asking,” she answered, instantly offended. She was not the type to give orders, and it hurt that Tuck could even think she was uninterested in their opinions. It was everything she had argued against at the council—the horror of a world in which those in power acted in nobody’s interests but their own. “I’m asking all of you. Even you, Amon.”
“My lady.” He bowed his head, but the inclusion clearly caught his surprise. She rarely consulted him for advice, despite their frequent proximity. It was not meant as an insult, she had once explained. “I value your ideas greatly, Amon, but I will generally keep myself closed to your counsel. You will be as well known by my side as my own arm, but ours is not a partnership. If I ask for your advice once, then you would risk growing bitter when I do not ask it a second time, or when I disregard it. You are more than a protector to me, but we will both be the safer if my decisions are wholly mine to make.”
But she asked for it now. Maybe because she knew the extremity of her situation, or maybe because she guessed that he would soon no longer be able to provide his service to her.
“With respect, my lady,” he said calmly, “you undervalue yourself. You brought fifty-four souls to this castle, and you would trade your safety for any one of them, because you are who you are. But you’re worth a hundred of them. And that is not to speak poorly of any one of them—I include myself in that figure, and John and Tuck here. You’re worth a hundred of us. And if there were actually a hundred of us to be sacrificed, you’d be worth a hundred more.”
Her throat tightened, she could not respond.
She would like to think he was right.
But if she let these people suffer for her actions, she’d be worth nothing.