Chapter 3 | Robin
Istood in the tent Robert had lent me, which I’d been expecting and hoping to sleep in tonight. Alas, trouble waited for no one.
Quickly strapping on my bow, my quiver of arrows, and the belt around my waist that held my sword, I spun around and marched outside—nearly running into Robert as he approached my tent.
My brother was dressed for battle, a sword strapped around his waist, too, with a bow on his back.
My brow crinkled. “What are you doing?”
“Coming with you.”
With a lurch, I asked, “To Ravenshead? Why? Your people are here.”
“Your people are my people now, sister. We’re a team. And I’d like to see how you handle . . . trouble.”
I rolled my eyes and breezed past him. “I don’t need a guard dog, Robert, and I don’t need to be coddled.”
He hurried to keep up. “No, I suppose you don’t. I’m still coming.”
My eyes moved to a nearby fire, where Uncle Gregory sat alone, staring into the licking flames as if contemplating his entire life.
“Uncle doesn’t want to come?”
Robert scoffed, seeing where I was looking. “That old man? He’d be the first to admit he’d only slow us down.”
I shouldered my brother, but couldn’t hide my smile. “Little John and Friar Tuck would take offense to that. They’re older than us, too.”
“Good thing they didn’t hear me then, aye?” He bobbed his eyebrows to make his point. “Besides, someone needs to stay behind to watch the camp.”
“Bess can’t do that?”
Robert chuckled. “She is quite amazing and unexpected, isn’t she?”
With a small nod, a sad, reminiscent smile grew on my face. “She reminds me of Mama Joan. Stern and formidable.”
“Aye. Only funnier, too.”
Slowly, I regarded my brother. The man could hardly stand still, and as our eyes crept toward our horses in the distance—where Tuck and John were preparing supplies—he only grew giddier.
“What has you in such a good mood?” I asked.
“Suppose I’m just happy we’ve finally made an alliance, sister. We can be a family again.”
The sentiment was nice, though I wasn’t sure that was it. We were running headlong into danger, after all, and I got the sense Robert relished it . . . sort of like me.
“You just want to be away from the doldrums of camp life, don’t you?”
His head bobbed from side to side. “Might have something to do with it. I’ve always grown bored easy. You know that.”
“Aye. You sailed halfway across the world to fight a war because of it.”
He flashed another smirk.
We walked by the fire where Gregory sat, opting not to disturb him. Once we were a few paces past him, though, the old man’s gravelly voice rose and stopped us like children caught in the pig pen.
“Hoy.”
We turned as one.
“Work together, aye? You’re brother and sister.”
“We’re aware, Uncle,” I drawled, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“Good. Then don’t get yourselves killed.”
“You too, old man.”
With our traditional farewell spoken, complete with grins from both of us, we left the Oak Boys camp.
I WAS DEAD TIRED ON my horse, riding through the wee hours of morning after getting no sleep. Emergencies couldn’t be planned, and the rushing blood of our anticipated arrival kept me alert and on the saddle.
“This couldn’t have waited ‘til morning, eh?” Tuck asked from his saddle, with a huge yawn following.
John said, “You know Will. Always ominous.”
Tuck laughed. “Ominous? Did you leave your brain in that prison cell, John? Will Scarlet is the least ominous person I’ve ever met. What you see is exactly what you get with him.”
“Then why the cryptic message?” John asked.
“Perhaps in case it got intercepted by soldiers en route to us,” I chirped from my saddle. I had to practically yell over the pounding of hooves rumbling the earth beneath us.
“Good thing we haven’t seen any soldiers in ages then,” John said.
“Even if it did get intercepted, all the pertinent information was right there: He’ll be in Ravenshead. The only ‘ominous’ part is not telling us what trouble he thinks is brewing,” Tuck said.
From my left, Robert added, “This Will Scarlet fellow seems like someone I certainly want to meet.”
“You might regret that statement, Robert,” Tuck said with a chuckle.
I glanced from my right to my left, where Robert rode abreast with me. “John is right, about us not running across soldiers in ages. Any idea, from a soldier’s perspective, why that might be?”
“Aside from it being winter the past three months, and snowing hell most the time?”
I scowled at him.
“I imagine news of the Siege of Acre hasn’t reached your camp yet,” Robert said after he’d stopped smiling.
I shook my head. “I don’t know what that is.”
“In the Holy Land, it’s a city near Jerusalem. King Richard and the other kings have been besieging it since the Crusade began three years ago. God, I can’t believe it’s been so long already.”
My brow furrowed. “What’s the significance?”
“Well, I’ve received word Acre has fallen. It’s a great victory.”
My eyes bulged. “How do you know that?”
Robert looked away, a hint of a smirk on his mischievous face. “I have my sources still in the army abroad, Robin. Just because you leave the army doesn’t mean it leaves you.”
“Does that mean we’ve won Jerusalem?”
He snorted. “Not by a long shot. It’s a step in the right direction, maybe.”
“What’s that got to do with the price of honey?” Tuck shot from my other side.
“Well, friar, there has been a large influx of soldiers sent back home—mostly injured and inept ones—replaced by new soldiers leaving for the Holy Land, too, as the war gets more intense. That could explain why the roads have been largely empty of mercenaries and soldiers in recent months.”
I slanted my head, then nearly got vertigo from trying to watch the blurring road in front of me from that angle, and righted myself.
“I wonder if that means the Sheriff is too occupied with all of that to hone in on us,” I said.
“It could.” Robert shrugged. He rode his steed like Alan-a-Dale, elegant and straight-backed. I was envious, because I was still white-knuckling the reins even hours after leaving his camp.
“My network tells me soldiers have taken up residence in many small towns and villages in Sherwood Forest. The soldiers are tucked away, not on the roads. Some of them are there to avoid being sent to Jerusalem, no doubt—”
“Recruitment opportunities into our ranks?” I blurted.
“—while others are likely celebrating the victory at Acre. I’ve even heard and seen evidence of the Knights Templar making their way to our woods.”
“Fucking hell,” Tuck groaned. “The Templars? That’s not good for anyone.”
“Nay, it’s not, friar.”
My head swiveled between them—left to right. “Why not? Are the Knights Templar bad?”
“They’re grandiose, self-important shock troops that are too overzealous for their own good,” Robert growled. Clearly, he had experience with these knights, and it wasn’t a good one. “Amazing warriors, but generally awful people.”
I’d heard of the Knights Templar, of course, though I’d never met one. It seemed to be quite a generalization on my brother’s part, yet I wasn’t going to argue with something I knew nothing about.
“Awful because . . . they fight for God?”
“Robin,” my brother began, and I knew a lecture was coming by his tone. “The Knights Templar fight for God in the same way I fight for Mama Joan. It sounds admirable in theory, but in practice? It’s bullshit. They’re one of the wealthiest organizations in the land. Wherever they go, they’re treated like royalty. They can cross borders freely, and they aren’t even taxed.”
“Fuck.”
“Yes. Fuck.”
Little John said, “Untaxed, noble assholes? I’m an admirer already.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
“The problem is, unlike most groveling shit-heels in the army, these men can actually fight. They’re one of the most preeminent fighting forces in all Christendom. And because of their free-borders policy, their allegiance to the pope and no other king, they can get away with anything. It’s common for them to set headquarters in visiting countries, nab farmland from honest folk, and call it their own.”
I shook my head. “Jesus Christ. And they’re just allowed to do this because . . .”
“You just said it, sister: Jesus Christ.”
Silence fell over us, with the thudding din of heavy hooves filling my ears. This was unfortunate news. I knew the Knights Templar had positions in England, though I’d never run across one, so I figured they were nonentities.
“Now with the Siege of Acre complete,” Robert finished, “I fear the Templars likely will cozy up to the lords of England and set down roots. They already have in the three temples they’ve built in London, Lincolnshire, and Essex. With them throwing their weight around, I worry they’ll present a problem moving forward.”
“Or an opportunity . . .” I muttered, mostly to myself. Honestly—and I knew it sounded brash—these knights sounded like the perfect targets for our exploits.
“If we have to fight these men, we are in trouble,” Little John pointed out. “When I served in King Henry’s army, they were not as much of a factor. The Crusade has bolstered their forces and importance.”
“Aye,” Robert said. “If Sheriff George brokers an alliance with them . . . the Merry Oak People might be fucked before our alliance even gets off the ground.”
The color drained from my face, and I felt suddenly cold. I couldn’t let outsiders ruin our chance to bring down the Sheriff of Nottingham. Surely, if they were men of God, rather than soldiers of fortune, they would recognize the tyranny that George represented among the commonfolk?
Seconds later, I shook my head, letting out a grunt.
I couldn’t be na?ve. Not these days. That Robin was gone. If these warriors truly ran such strong businesses with the blessing of the pope, with bullying practices, then they were nothing but bad news.
“I’m assuming Pope Clement’s recent death doesn’t make things easier for us,” John drawled.
“Nay, Little John,” Robert said. “Clement ran a tight ship. With the new pope, Celestine the Third, everything is up in the air. The Knights Templar, the Knights Hospitallers . . . they’re in flux. Which doesn’t bode well for anyone as they try to fortify their positions.”
I bit my lip. “Then I suppose we have to hope we never come across them . . . and that Sheriff George never manages to recruit the Soldiers of God to his side.”
“Hope?” Robert spat, disgust in his voice. “We can’t fight with hope on our side, sister. Hope and faith are the Templar’s jurisdiction.”
“Bishop Sutton,” Tuck grunted aloud, as if carrying on a separate conversation from us.
“What was that, Tuck?” John asked.
“With the Bishop of Ravenshead staying so long in Nottingham, alongside Sheriff George, what is the likelihood these warrior-priests don’t come sniffing?”
“No, no,” John assured, “Bishop Sutton is a good man. I’ve met him. He wouldn’t put innocent people in harm’s way, if he understands the business practices and questionable strategies of the Knights Templar like Robert says.”
“I know he’s good,” Tuck said, and his face darkened, even with the moonlight on it. “That doesn’t mean he’ll make the right choice, brother. Especially with the Sheriff in his ear. He might not have much of a choice.”
More silence fell. My stomach soured.
What else was there to say?
My heart sank, and my face grew even paler and colder than before. And with the chill, I lost any hope in a peaceful existence or resolution where these newcomers were concerned.