Trouble in the Forest Book Two Read online

  “Perhaps he would prefer to go with the players?” Weirton suggested tentatively.

  “Perhaps he would,” Cuyler agreed. “Certainly they are better-suited as fellow-travelers.” He looked at Pollard. “Let him have a copper for his singing and send him to the players.”

  “He didn’t sing very well,” Pollard protested.

  “But we kept him at it,” Cuyler pointed out. “A copper isn’t much for all his efforts.”

  Pollard nodded in concession. “Just one copper.”

  “That seems as well to me,” said Cuyler. “I’ll give it to him and tell him what we have decided.” He accepted the single coin and made his way to the rear of their group where the players had gathered. “Alan, my fine young lad,” he said.

  Alan supposed this must be trouble, for he had not often had so fulsome a greeting that wasn’t a prelude to trouble. “Yes?”

  Cuyler held out his coin. “This is for you, and with it our thanks for all you have done for us.” He coughed experimentally.

  “How kind of you,” Alan said automatically, more wary than ever. He could sense that Cuyler had more on his mind than thanks.

  “We have talked it over, and we’re willing to let you travel with the players instead of us. You seem to have taken to one another. They have taken to you, and that should prove beneficial to you and to them.” Cuyler glanced at the leader of the troupe, a tall, lean figure in a devil’s mask and heavy courtly dress. “Would this meet with your approval?”

  “Of course,” he said, a wicked gleam in eyes that appeared to be red; Cuyler supposed this was an illusion created by the red mask, but it unnerved him nonetheless. “We have been listening to some of Alan’s songs—his own, mind you—and liked his invention. We find him a good companion for our troupe.”

  “Ah,” said Cuyler, relieved. “Then this will go well for all of us.”

  Alan had to stop himself from protesting, for he had to admit that he was more pleased with the players than the merchants. Still, he disliked being dismissed out of hand. “May your travel be swift.” It was only marginally polite, but he made himself say it. “We’ll meet again in Nottingham.”

  “Yes. It seems likely that we will.” Cuyler turned away, satisfied that he had done right by the young minstrel. He went back to the merchants and smiled. “There. You see? All done without hard feelings.”

  “Just as well. That boy was becoming a nuisance. I have heard every song he knows at least twice and I couldn’t bear another round of them.” Pollard laughed to hide any malice his remarks might contain.

  “But he’s good enough in his way,” said Cuyler, feeling a need to speak up on Alan’s behalf.

  “I wish the players joy of him. Perhaps he will learn some new songs from them; they say players always hear new songs.” Pollard paid no more attention to the players and Alan. He went to the leader of the armed escort and recommended that they send one ahead to Nottingham, alerting the town to their arrival. “In case there should be trouble procuring rooms for all of us. With the Fair, beds will be in short supply, and it may be wise to command what we will need before we arrive.”

  The leader of the escort nodded. “A good recommendation,” he decided aloud. “We will do all that we may to find accommodations for the lot of us.”

  Pollard handed him a small purse. “Use this as persuasion, if you need it.”

  “That I will,” said the escort, and summoned one of his men, passing on instructions and the purse. “We sleep tonight in Nottingham.”

  “Aye,” said the chosen messenger. “I’ll hurry along.”

  “Good man,” said his leader, and gave the office to the man to ride on.

  As the armed man rode away, Pollard glanced back at the players, who seemed to be moving fairly slowly. “They’re going to fall behind.”

  “Then they’ll arrive after dark, and will have to sleep outside the walls tonight,” said Cuyler. “That is their concern, not ours.”

  “Yes,” said Pollard as he took the lead-rope of his mule and gave it a sharp tug. “So it is.”

  How deSteny and

  Prince John planned

  MUSIC and laughter from the Great Hall carried all the way to deSteny’s study, lending its eerie presence to the private conversation that had begun shortly after the evening banquet, and looked to continue until Vigil. Four oil lamps and a fire lit the chamber and offered a little warmth, but otherwise the autumn night held chilly sway.

  “The obsequies for Sir Mortimer,” deSteny remarked as one particularly loud burst of sound echoed up to them. He had a tankard of mulled wine at his elbow, and the aroma of the spices filled the night.

  “So Sir Gui says,” Prince John agreed. He was in fine clothes but had abandoned his formal manner. “They will go on for some time yet, I fear.” He was on his second tankard of mulled wine but so far showed no ill effects from it.

  “And I,” said deSteny. “A pity Sir Mortimer could not be saved. His fever was too much in flux by the time he came here, and his putrid cough finally wore him out.”

  Prince John crossed himself. “All of us die, but it is sad when a life is ended so needlessly.”

  “Truly,” said deSteny. “There have been too many needless deaths of late.”

  “You’ve read Brother Tancred’s book, then?” Prince John asked, leaving the question dangling as if inviting revelation.

  If deSteny were aware of the implication, he gave no indication of it. “As soon as Mother Barnaba gave it to me. Poor Brother Tancred. I recall hearing tales of him in the Holy Land. He was as fearless as any knight, a man of valor, though it brought him to a terrible end.” His stare was far away as he drank more of his wine, aware that it wasn’t as hot as it had been. He would have to summon Osbert to fetch some more before long. “I didn’t realize he was able to record so much before that end came.”

  “Speaking of needless deaths, Brother Tancred’s was one,” said Prince John.

  “He was a good man,” said deSteny, his voice so flat that Prince John knew that deSteny’s grief was great.

  “The Crusades have claimed many good men, Brother Tancred not the least of them, and for nothing more than the aggrandizement of ambitious men,” Prince John declared. “Richard has much to answer for—not that he ever will. He has claimed his place in the annals of Christianity, and that is enough for him—that, and keeping The Aquitaine, for the sake of our mother.” He drank more of the hot mulled wine Nicholas Woodhull had brought a short while ago. “I speak no treason. Anyone who knows how he left things must be concerned. I am not the only one who has professed anxiety: half the Barons are chafing at the demands made on them, and almost all the Bishops. Richard is King of England, but he has spent most of his reign chasing about the Holy Land on borrowed money, and thinks nothing of the burden he has imposed on his people.”

  “That is your task,” said deSteny.

  “Yes. It is, and one that I must honor or England itself will be forfeit,” said Prince John a bit grimly. “I hope that I will have a chance to see the encumbrances lifted from the people of England before I die.”

  “Then I hope you may, too,” said deSteny.

  Prince John shook his head slowly. “I believe that may be beyond my abilities.” He sighed. “And now these loathsome vampires in Sherwood! They are as dreadful an intrusion as the Islamites would be. Their numbers must be increasing, from the reports I have received. That is their nature, according to Brother Tancred.”

  “So it is,” said deSteny. “I have heard enough to convince me that they are drawing many to them.”

  “Do you expect that they will be stopped by your scheme for the Fair?” Prince John asked, no indication of his own perceptions in how he spoke.

  “I think they will be slowed, which will afford us time and perhaps the means to be rid of t
hem at last,” said the Sheriff.

  “You do not believe there can be one decisive strike made against them?” Prince John frowned at his own question.

  “They have all of Sherwood in which to hide, and, unless Hood is more of a fool than we have any reason to think him, he will not bring all his men to the Fair, but will select those who are most devoted to accompany him, and leave the rest under a trusted lieutenant. He is not reckless enough to give his men an excuse to break with him—he has no wish of rivals. Undoubtedly he has left orders with those who will not come to Nottingham, and they will obey him implicitly or pay a dreadful price.” DeSteny finished his mulled wine and set the tankard down. “Osbert! Come!” he shouted.

  The young page came in, knuckles to his eyes, a half—disguised yawn pulling down his chin. “What is it, Sheriff?”

  “We are in want of more mulled wine and we want it quickly,” said deSteny, motioning the page to make haste. “I ask you to go have our tankards filled again, and then hurry back with them, so they will remain warm.”

  Osbert blinked at the Prince, and for once complied without question. He looked briefly at deSteny and nodded before hurrying off toward the kitchens.

  “A compliant child,” the Prince observed.

  “Occasionally, he is. Just now, he seeks to please Your Grace, in the hope of advancement,” deSteny said. “I will be prepared to praise him if he brings us new tankards while they are still steaming.”

  “It is a cold night,” Prince John agreed.

  “And likely to get colder,” said the Sheriff.

  “Winter is coming,” said Prince John.

  “Yes,” said deSteny, wondering what Prince John was getting at.

  “Winter is coming, and there will be fewer travelers on the road. For Hood and his men, it means slimmer pickings.”

  DeSteny nodded somberly. “All the more reason to stop as many of them as we may while we have the chance. The dark of the years lends them strength and privation will make them bold, I fear, and desperate. No one in the forest, not traveler, nor woodsman, nor abbey, nor croft, will be safe from them.”

  “Exactly,” said Prince John, and went to stand directly in front of the fire once again. “I do not suppose that we need nothing more than one lucky encounter to put an end to these fell creatures, but you are right: we must do as much as we can to limit them, or they will spread through the country like a plague, or a fire. You must have seen as much in the Holy Land, so I need not convince you. You cannot continue as you are and leave the vampires unchecked. As they grow stronger, they will also grow bolder.”

  “That has been my worry for many days now,” said deSteny. “Located as we are here in Nottingham, we would likely be the first town to fall to them if they increased their numbers through the winter. I am convinced that unless we work against them this autumn, we will be in a great deal of trouble come spring.”

  “What do your woodsmen think?” the Prince inquired.

  “Most of them are reluctant to go into Sherwood at all,” deSteny admitted.

  “Well,” said Prince John heavily. “There you are.”

  “Yes,” deSteny agreed.

  “Then we must be steady in our purpose, mustn’t we?” Prince John asked.

  “It is that or risk worse than death,” said deSteny with a bitterness that astonished him as he heard his own voice.

  “You have the right of it,” said Prince John, sighing a bit as he lowered his eyes.

  A sudden burst of laughter from the Great Hall shocked both men.

  “They will turn rowdy shortly,” said deSteny. “Then they’ll brawl.”

  “And in the morning, they’ll have raging heads and windy bowels,” said the Prince. “And the town will fill with men coming to the Fair. Sir Gui’s men will be more trouble than help.”

  “It seems likely,” said deSteny.

  “Then you’ll have to rely on your men to—” the Prince began, but stopped as young Osbert came, panting, back into the study. “There you are, and in good time.”

  Osbert ducked his head, afraid to look directly at Prince John. “I hurried as fast as I could without spilling the wine.” He held up the tankards. “See?”

  “Very good, lad,” said deSteny, and held out a copper coin as Osbert put the tankards on the corner of his writing table.

  “Much obliged, Sheriff,” said Osbert, seizing the coin and hiding it away inside his tunic. “It is always good when courtiers come—they pay for service. I don’t mind staying up for them, not if they give me coins.” He tossed his head in a brazen display of his own satisfaction, then rushed out of the study.

  “It is still steaming,” Prince John approved as he reached for the tankard. “Well done!” he called after the page. “He is an engaging scamp.”

  “He is an upstart, and he’ll be as arrogant as Sir Gui, one day. Still, he is not as arrogant as some,” said deSteny. “He shows humility to men of rank and presumption to those of lesser station.”

  “Like most of the pages in England,” said Prince John. He lifted the tankard and took a tentative sip. “Very good. Hot.”

  “Even as you wished.” DeSteny drank a bit. “More cloves in this batch, I think.”

  “Or the same and simmered longer. They increase in flavor the longer they’re cooked,” said Prince John. The two men drank in silence while the eerie echoes of the hilarity in the Great Hall rang off the stone walls, and then the Prince said, “The vampires will come to the Fair. Won’t they?”

  “I should think they may already be here,” said deSteny.

  “You know them better than anyone,” said Prince John. “How do you think they will arrive?”

  “Not by night,” said deSteny, making a disgusted face at the window. “We will be too careful of those who come by night.”

  “But how can they come in the day? There is sunlight, and they must not—”

  “They will find some means to disguise themselves. It is what they did in the Holy Land, and it is what they will do now.” He studied the steam rising from his mulled wine. “I have issued quarrels to the cross—bowmen made of hawthorn, without metal tips, and given javelins to the Guard that are only wood. I hope they will be useful against these monsters.”

  “How do the soldiers feel about such weapons?” asked the Prince.

  “They accept them but not eagerly. They want to have their lances and maces and mauls instead of wooden quarrels and javelins. But they know that lances and maces and mauls haven’t proven useful against this foe, so they are willing to try what I give them.” He drank, faintly pleased that the hot wine slightly burned his lip.

  “They are prudent to follow your lead. You have direct experience they have not. You survived the vampires in the Holy Land, Sheriff, and you will best them now,” said Prince John, trying to make the most of their plans.

  “I hope so,” said deSteny. “This time it must be to the death. Either they will die, or I will.”

  Prince John was startled by the grimness of deSteny’s voice. “Must it come to that? Must you have your confrontation at the Fair?”

  “I would like it because the fighting would be on ground I can hold, but it may not be possible—Hood and his men will prefer to fight in the forest, where they are strongest. It is not surprising that they should do so,” deSteny allowed. “But it must come to an end soon, one way or another.”

  “It sounds as if you are preparing for a last attack.”

  “It may not be the last, but it must be decisive,” said the Sheriff.

  “At this Fair?” Prince John was growing uncomfortable.

  “Here, or before another year passes,” said deSteny, feeling a bit reckless in admitting so much.

  “Is it possible to end the reign of these fiends so quickly? Are you not defeating yourself by se
tting such conditions upon your battles?”

  “How can I not set such limits, when I know what comes of delay?” deSteny asked, and drank deeply. “I failed once, dreadfully, and yet I lived. I cannot fail again.”

  Prince John was about to speak when there was a loud crash followed by shouted oaths from the floor below. “Will Sir Humphrey deal with this, or must you go?”

  “Sir Gui is supposed to maintain the order of his guests,” said deSteny, trying to recover himself. The noise had unnerved him, though he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. “I would not be allowed to interfere, though I am Sheriff.”

  “The chances are he will lead the scuffle,” said Prince John, sounding tired.

  “Not if it means smirched clothing,” deSteny countered.

  Prince John chuckled. “Yes. Vanity will spare him many bruises.”

  DeSteny took another long draft of mulled wine and did his best to ignore the ruckus from the Great Hall. When he had consumed almost half the contents of the tankard, he was emboldened to say, “I am grateful you have come, Your Grace.”

  “What manner of regent would I be if I didn’t?” Prince John inquired.

  “You would emulate your brother, our King, who has absented himself for years.” DeSteny knew as soon as he spoke that he had exceeded his privileges.

  “I will forget you said that,” Prince John told him. “You, and I, serve Richard, as worthy vassals should.”

  “Of course,” deSteny said hastily.

  “My brother has taken up the fight for Jerusalem, and he has led the soldiers against the followers of Muhammed, for the glory of Christ.” Prince John was speaking in measured tones now, as if addressing the Barons, or the Archbishop of Canterbury, not the Sheriff of Nottingham.

  “At great cost, in more than treasure,” said deSteny unapologetically.

  “It must seem so to you,” Prince John responded.

  “I am only one of many,” deSteny told him.