Orphan of Destiny (13 page)

“Well, too bloody bad. You need to get ahold of yourself. You’ve suffered a loss, there’s no denying it. More than anyone should have to. But you’ve got work to do, so I say let’s get to it.”

“No. Don’t you realize what’s happened here? You don’t—” I stammered.

Robard grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me to my feet, his face inches from mine. “Enough of this, Tristan. We’re sorry for what happened here, but we will grieve for your friends in time. Have you forgotten Sir Hugh is still looking for us? And the King’s Guards? And Eleanor won’t stop either. Don’t you think it might occur to them that you might come here? Looking for a place to rest or hide? Sir Hugh is probably on his way here now. You made an oath to your knight. You have a duty. If you sit around here feeling sorry for yourself, you’re going to get us killed,” he said.

I tried to push away, but Robard’s grip was like iron. Angel let out a low growl and Brother Tuck moved toward us, worried Robard might try to hurt me. Little John held out his hand and gently pulled Tuck back.

“You don’t understand! These men died . . .” I tried not to cry again, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

“You think you’re the only one who’s suffered in this world? Are you the only one to lose a friend or comrade? You’ve had a tough road, Tristan, I’ll grant you, but you need to be strong now. Let’s finish this.”

I wanted to do what Robard said. Last night I had wanted to hunt Sir Hugh down. But this morning, I’d awakened drained and empty with no more stomach for it. I just wanted to be left to die amidst the ruins of my beloved home.

My head sagged and Robard sighed. He let go of me and I slumped to the ground again. He stomped away.

“Maryam, let’s get the horses ready. Little John . . . tell me, don’t you find it odd that someone your size is called Little John? I do. It’s not the best nickname I’ve ever heard. Maybe I should call you Tiny instead.” Robard paused a moment, as if considering it. “Regardless, Little John, I’m not sure you’re to be trusted, but you may come with us as well if you’d like. We leave in ten minutes,” Robard commanded, pulling me to my feet again and pushing me toward the horses. “Figure out a way to get your Brother Tuck to gather up what he needs, because we’re leaving.”

“What? No. What are you doing?” I complained.

“I’m taking you somewhere you can rest and recover and get your mind focused again on what it is you need to do. Lucky for you it’s on the way to Scotland,” he said.

“Why are you doing this? Where are you taking me?” I groaned.

“I’m taking you home,” Robard replied with a smile. “Sherwood Forest.”

16

T
here were five of us now and only three mounts. While Robard and Maryam prepared the horses for departure, Tuck disappeared. None of us even noticed he was gone until I heard the clicking sound he often made when he was working or thinking or happy. It was a soft noise he made with his tongue, and over the years I’d learned what he meant by the different clicks he could make.

When I glanced around, my heart caught in my throat, for there stood Tuck, with our old plow horse Charlemagne at his side. The very horse the brothers lent me to ride to Dover when I left St. Alban’s with the knights. I had no idea how Tuck had recovered Charlemagne, but seeing him was a momentary lift of my spirits. Rushing to Charlemagne’s side, I smiled as he nickered in recognition and pushed his head against my chest.

Maryam and Robard again shared a horse. Tuck tied up a few cloth bags and looped them over Charlemagne’s back, then mounted up, and we took our leave of St. Alban’s. I removed the documents from the abbot’s box and placed them in my satchel. I still did not wish to leave, but in the end there was no choice. Robard was determined he would take me with him one way or the other. I couldn’t summon the energy to argue with him, so I reluctantly followed along.

We rode back through the woods to the abbey grounds, and I asked my companions for a few moments to pray at the graves of my brothers. Tuck joined me, and there were tears in his eyes as we knelt there. As a child, I often wondered how Tuck knew how and when to pray. I once asked the abbot, and he told me he believed God spoke directly to special souls like Tuck and that Tuck had no need of human speech or hearing. Perhaps he was right, but as we knelt in the lane and prayed for the souls of the monks, I gave thanks. As angry as I was at God, he had also created a miracle in his kind and gentle servant Brother Tuck.

We headed north, and Robard, Maryam and the others left me alone as we traveled through the countryside. Even Angel kept her distance, but she found another friend, as she clearly delighted in Brother Tuck’s company. We rode during the day, avoiding farms and villages. On occasion Robard doubled back to make sure we weren’t being followed.

Winter fully arrived a few days later, and the weather, which had been cool, grew colder. Tuck replaced my lost tunic with a brown monk’s robe from one of his bags and insisted I wear it. The thick wool helped to cut some of the wind and cold, but I worried the weather would slow us up. We needed to make fires at night or risk freezing, which worked in Sir Hugh’s favor, as they made us easier to find.

The leaves had fallen from trees and everything around us was gray and barren. On occasion snowflakes swirled through the sky. We slept close to the fire at night.

When I tried to sleep, I was haunted by the faces of the brothers. They tormented me and I continued blaming myself for their deaths. I thought of Eleanor’s proclamation in Calais, and of Sir Thomas. The abbot had deceived me all these years. He knew who I was, but had kept it from me so I would be safe. But now Sir Thomas was dead, and the full truth of my parentage had died with him. Death followed me everywhere, and in my darkest moments of despair, I cursed God. If he hadn’t seen fit to guide me to St. Alban’s, the brothers would still be alive.

As we moved farther north, Robard’s spirits improved with each passing day. He was happy to be going home, something he had yearned for since I first met him in Outremer. And despite my foul mood, I tried to be happy for him. He took special pride in showing Maryam the many things he knew about the forest.

Yet try as I might, I could not lift the veil of darkness overwhelming me. When we camped at night, I would often stalk off into the woods alone to practice with my sword, swinging it back and forth, thrusting and parrying until, despite the cold weather, the sweat dripped from my brow. Maryam and even Tuck in his own silent way would beg me to rest. But I refused. My wounded side ached, but Tuck kept applying his poultices, and eventually it stopped hurting as much.

We circled around London, staying closer to the coast, and found a spot where we could swim the horses across the Thames. The water was dreadfully cold, and once across we needed to stop and build a fire immediately to warm ourselves before turning back inland and heading toward Robard’s homestead. We passed a few cities and towns on the way, Northampton and Leicester and other places I knew of only from the tales of travelers who had visited St. Alban’s.

But trouble was following us. I felt it, and I think the others did too. In France, while I had gone to Celia’s aid, I had felt a presence lurking behind me and knew it was Sir Hugh. I wondered if somehow it was the Grail warning me.

Two days past the Thames, Robard rode hurriedly into the small glen where we were resting the horses.

“Templars!” he said. “Quickly.” We all leapt to the saddle and hurried off. Three leagues away, we found a spot offering good cover on a ridge above a well-traveled road. Dismounting, we hid in the trees and waited. A few minutes later a dozen Templars thundered by below us. Sir Hugh was not among them, but they were going hard, pushing their horses. We waited until they were well past before we started out again. It was a close call, and if Robard hadn’t been watching, they likely would have ridden right upon us. I couldn’t tell if they were Sir Hugh’s men or not, but I now assumed every commandery in England was on the lookout. In my darker moments I believed Sir Hugh was the devil himself, and seeing these men only served to remind me that his fingers were in every corner of the kingdom.

We became more cautious. It was impossible to travel without being seen occasionally, and Sir Hugh had proven before to be an able tracker. No matter our pace, where we camped or how cautiously we proceeded, someone was going to notice us.

After many more days, we passed around a village that Robard called Loughborough.

“We’re close, my friends,” he exclaimed happily. “We’re no more than a good day’s journey from my family’s farm now. We’ll find shelter there and plenty of food. We can safely rest while we plan our next move.”

Seven days had passed since we’d left St. Alban’s. Mostly we traveled in the early morning and at twilight, resting in the middle of the day when more people were about and the likelihood of being discovered was higher. Riding at night had finally proved too difficult. We became lost on more than one occasion, and unless we followed a well-used road, we made poor time picking our way through the wooded countryside.

While we camped at night, Little John told me stories of Sir Thomas and the time they spent together in King Henry’s army, in an effort to lift my spirits. Since the incident on the bridge, Robard took to insulting John whenever he could. This night, Robard scoffed at his story. “From listening to you talk, it would appear that you and Sir Thomas defeated the French single-handedly. Good thing it was only the French and not Saracens.” Little John bristled but let the comment slide. In these passing days I learned he was far more patient than Robard, and the rest of us found we enjoyed his company. He took a special interest in Tuck, letting the monk use his potions and creams to treat a variety of ailments I suspected did not really exist. But it made Tuck feel useful.

Whenever Robard tried to draw him into an argument, he would control his temper, and it really annoyed Robard that he was so slow to anger. One morning, as we were readying to break camp, they nearly came to blows. Little John was again telling me stories of his army service under King Henry and some of the details of his campaigns with Sir Thomas. I loved hearing his tales, especially about Sir Thomas. After one particularly adventuresome account of their defeat of French knights, Robard couldn’t resist.

“Ha. It sounds like you won the war single-handedly. From your description it sounds as if the French folded like a tent in a windstorm . . . ,” he remarked as he was mounting his horse. Robard didn’t get the chance to finish. Little John flew across the campsite and pulled Robard off the horse with one hand, tossing him to the ground and knocking the breath from his lungs.

Maryam moved to intercede and I put out an arm to stop her. “Wait,” I said quietly.

Little John stood squatting over Robard, who tried to regain his feet but was held effortlessly on the forest floor by the giant man. “Listen to me, archer, and hear me well. You are a soldier and a man of honor, and I do not dispute it. You’ve spoken of your father and his father, who have also defended the kingdom, and their sacrifice is noted. The Hode family has my gratitude. But know this: you are not the only man who has served. You are not the only Crusader who has seen the waste of lives and terror of warfare. I won’t tolerate rude behavior, especially when it comes to my service in the name of England. Are we clear?”

Robard’s face reddened as he struggled to free himself. But I saw John’s words finally reach him, and his anger subsided. “All right, Little John. I apologize. You are right, I had no call to make light of your service.” Little John nodded, and Robard extended his hand and was helped to his feet. Without another word he mounted his horse and rode off, not waiting for us to follow behind him.

As the morning passed, Robard grew more animated. “We’re close, my friends. Sherwood lies to the west of Nottingham. We can be there by nightfall if we push hard enough! We’ll dine at my father’s table and you’ll see some of the finest land in all of England.” He went on in a similar vein until we were no longer listening.

In the late afternoon, still many hours from Robard’s home, according to his estimate, we decided to make camp. The horses could go no farther without rest. Robard argued to keep pushing on, but Little John and Maryam counseled against it.

“Now is not the time to grow careless,” Little John cautioned. “Let’s say we keep going and find ourselves surrounded by Templars or King’s Guards. Our horses are less than fleet as it is. We could not outrun well-mounted troops.”

Robard finally agreed. We made our camp in a small stand of trees with a shallow stream nearby. My bones ached from riding, and I welcomed the freedom from the saddle. We ate a dinner of smoked hare and fell fast asleep.

The next morning we woke to find the woods shrouded in fog. It had grown considerably colder overnight, and we wasted no time building a fire. With any luck, Robard told us, we’d be sitting by his hearth come evening.

The mist swirled over and around and through the trees, making it difficult to see more than a few yards in any direction. The forest was quiet, and the birds and other sounds you would expect to hear even on a winter morning were missing. As we gathered up our gear and saddled the horses, Robard paced about the camp nervously.