The Betrayal of Father Tuck: An Outlaw Chronicles short story (2 page)

The elderly steward flapped his hands in agitation. ‘But my lady,’ he said, ‘he is one of Prince John’s counsellors, the Constable of Nottingham no less, one of the most powerful men in—’

‘I know exactly who he is,’ Marie-Anne spat. And then she relinquished the steward’s arm and moved gracefully towards the man in black, a tight smile on her lips, her shoulders braced, her back as straight as a spear.

‘Sir Ralph Murdac, what a surprise to see you here. And what brings you unannounced to our humble corner of Hallamshire?’

Father Tuck frowned as he watched the Countess of Locksley usher her guest through the doorway of her hall with all the considerable grace that she had at her command. He knew full well that her husband was the sworn enemy of this dark lordling, who had so unexpectedly made an appearance in their home, for Ralph Murdac had once been the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and the Royal Forests, and he and Robin had clawed at each other for many years while Marie-Anne’s husband had been an outlaw in the wilds of Sherwood. Murdac had been defeated in battle by Robin and exposed as a dishonest official and had fled from King Richard’s wrath to Scotland. But, with the Lionheart away on the Great Pilgrimage, the fellow had returned to Nottingham, and was now rumoured to be the right-hand man of Prince John, Richard’s ambitious younger brother, who had made himself England’s most puissant magnate.

What in God’s name
, thought Tuck,
is that little shit-weasel doing here?

Before following his mistress, Tuck summoned the captain of the castle’s small garrison, and spoke a few urgent words to him. Then he whistled to his wolfhounds, strode across the courtyard and entered the dim space of the great hall.

Marie-Anne was seated in the great chair at the head of the hall as Tuck entered. She was looking coldly at Murdac, who was standing before her, the half-full goblet of wine still in his hand, and who appeared to be in the middle of some flowery and flattering speech about her apparent health and beauty.

Tuck only caught the end of it: ‘… indeed, I have never seen your good self look quite so radiant – it must be this bracing Yorkshire air. I should dearly love to spend more time in this beautiful county, not least because it would allow me to spend more time in your delightful company, my dear Marie-Anne, but sadly my duties with the Prince prevent me from affording myself that greatest of pleasures.’

Murdac smiled coyly, and slightly inclined his glossy black head in a half-bow.

‘Yes, you must be very tired and dirty after the ride from Nottingham,’ said the Countess of Locksley. ‘I do not wish to detain you in Kirkton any longer than necessary. Tell me what it is that you wished to communicate to me, and I will let you be on your way.’

Ralph Murdac frowned. ‘I have no desire to be anywhere other than in your captivating company, my lady. I would be very happy to spend the night here, or several days, if you will have me – there is no need for any formality, a simple bed could be made up for me here in the hall; my men can sleep in the stables.’

‘I am afraid that that is out of the question,’ said Marie-Anne. ‘I would not care to have my husband hear from some eager gossip that you had spent a night under my roof. Now tell me what you came here to say and I shall bid you Godspeed.’

For the first time, Murdac began to look irritated. ‘It is about your husband that I wish to speak to you, my lady. If I might be permitted to take my ease,’ he said, and looked around for a companion chair to Marie-Anne’s high throne-like seat.

‘Father Tuck, be so good as to bring Sir Ralph something suitable to sit upon,’ said Marie-Anne. The fat priest disappeared, followed silently by the two vast dogs, and returned a few moments later bearing a stool from the servants’ end of the hall. It was a seat designed for a child; an ancient, rickety three-legged object about a foot tall. Tuck set it down before Marie-Anne’s huge chair, and the Countess of Locksley indicated the little stool with a hospitably outstretched palm.

Murdac lowered himself and for a moment actually rested his weight on the tiny perch. But, when he found his knees around his ears and his neck craning backwards to look up at Marie-Anne so high above him, he swiftly changed his mind and jumped back up to his feet.

His back stiffened, his chest puffed, his frown deepened. ‘I did not expect your welcome to be so grudging, my lady.’

‘You did not? And what would make you expect otherwise?’

‘We have known each other many years – we are old friends.’

‘It is true that I have been acquainted with you since I was a girl,’ said Marie-Anne. ‘But I would never sully their company by counting you among my friends.’

‘Is that so?’ Murdac said icily. ‘Perhaps you will change your tune when you hear what I have to say. His Royal Highness Prince John, Lord of Ireland, Earl of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire, has commanded me to take you to wife.’

‘What?’ Marie-Anne’s voice cracked like a riding whip. ‘How dare he – how dare
you
? I am a freeborn woman, a Countess in my own right – and I am already wed, as you and your princely master very well know. I am a married woman.’

One of the wolfhounds seated beside Tuck sensed the change in the air and gave a low, warning growl; a noise to raise the neck hairs. The priest scratched its bristly head gently, and it quietened.

‘My lady, I fear that you are, in truth, a widow,’ said Murdac – yet for a man delivering bad news he appeared to be grinning rather more than was quite decent.

‘My husband, the noble Earl of Locksley, is at present en route from the Holy Land; he wrote to tell me that he would be returning by sea across the Mediterranean and then north via the Spanish lands. I am expecting him home at Kirkton shortly.’

‘Your husband left the Holy Land a whole year ago – and it is now more than certain that he perished on that long and dangerous journey. Indeed, we have news of a battle fought in Spain six months past between the forces of the Emir of Granada and a band of English archers, pilgrims returning from the Holy Land. There was great slaughter; it seems none of the Englishmen survived.’ Murdac smirked openly at the Countess. ‘Your husband is dead, my dear lady. He will never come home. You are a widow. Indeed, you have been declared a widow by Prince John himself; and our kindly Prince, fearing that you might lack for companionship, has graciously commanded me to take you to wife.’

‘Get out!’ Marie-Anne had risen, her face hard as bone. ‘Get out of my hall, get out of my castle, get out of my sight, you disgusting little—’

At that moment, the Countess was interrupted by a shrill cry of joy.

‘Mama, Mama!’ shouted a voice, and a tiny form came pattering across the hall, a little boy aged about two and a half, sturdy, raven-haired and squeaking with happiness. He came racing, his arms outstretched in welcome, and pursued by a stout, breathless, red-faced peasant woman in a white apron.

Tuck intercepted the boy. ‘Not now, Hugh,’ he said, taking a firm grip of the child’s pudgy arm. ‘Your mother is just bidding farewell to this gentleman. Sit you down here, just for a moment, and wait until our guest has taken his leave.’

‘You cannot refuse me,’ Murdac said. ‘You shall be my wife. The Prince commands it. And then there is him!’ He threw out a finger at the little boy who had just been persuaded by Tuck with some difficulty to sit quietly on the stool.

Tuck looked at the angry, silk-clad form of Murdac, at his petulant mouth, icy blue eyes, his sable hair, and looked down at the child. They were like images in a mirror but separated by thirty years, Hugh a tiny perfect replica of the angrily pointing adult. And then Tuck understood.

‘You will leave Kirkton forthwith,’ said Marie-Anne. ‘And you will never attempt to gain entrance here again. I reject your offer as absurd and I tell you that I consider it a gross insult to my honour and to the honour of my husband.’

Tuck clicked his tongue and the two wolfhounds started to rumble deep in their throats, a noise like the grinding of rocks deep in the earth. The black lips of both animals peeled back to reveal long, white, dagger-sharp teeth. Murdac glanced at the dogs and took a step backwards.

‘I shall leave you now,’ he said, looking up at Marie-Anne’s pale face. ‘But I will be back. I can see that my arguments have failed to persuade. We shall see if you remain as blindly wilful, when I return. The Prince makes a bad enemy. As do I. And I shall certainly possess you – and my son – by one road or another.’

With a final glance at the two enormous wolfhounds, Murdac strode out of the hall, and he could be heard from the courtyard calling loudly for his men and his horse.

***

A little before midnight, the sound of weeping could be heard clearly from beyond the solar door. Tuck knocked softly, but did not wait for permission to enter. He came through the door, with a candle in his hand, and moved across the room to the four-poster bed on the far side, which contained the prone, sobbing form of his mistress.

‘He is dead, isn’t he?’ Marie-Anne said, the tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘He died in Spain or in France or in some other far-off corner of the world, and I shall never see him again.’

‘He’s not dead. We would have had some reliable report of it, if he were,’ said Tuck soothingly. ‘Besides, there is not a man on this good green earth who could kill him. Not one. I am certain of it. God forgive him, but I sometimes think the Devil guards his back. No, my lady, dry your tears; your husband Robin is not dead. And, the Good Lord willing, he will surely return to you soon.’

‘You don’t know that. You can’t know that,’ she said, bursting into a fresh flood. ‘And that vicious little toad Murdac will not rest until he gets what he wants. I know him.’

Tuck opened his brawny arms and took the Countess of Locksley into them. His simple woollen monk’s robe was rough against her cheek, but when he tightened his arms a fraction, she felt his strength and warmth flow into her, giving her courage. After a little while she pushed him away and sat up in the bed, cuffing at her red-rimmed eyes with the sleeve of her chemise.

‘What shall we do, Tuck?’ said Marie-Anne in a calmer voice. ‘Murdac will come back with many men-at-arms, hundreds, Prince John will gladly supply them, and he will overrun this castle and then…’ She coughed, plucked a lace-trimmed linen kerchief from the round bedside table and blew her nose noisily.

‘He wants Hugh.’ She stopped. ‘You know about Hugh?’

‘Yes,’ said Tuck. ‘It is plain for all the world to see that he is not Robin’s blood. But I did not see the truth until today.’

‘He forced me – I was not willing, I swear it. I swear it, Tuck. On my life.’

‘I know it.’

They sat together in silence. Tuck waited. He knew the tale would come out in its own time. He knew she badly wished to speak of it, and he was the person to tell. He was her confessor, after all. He also knew he could not press her.

At last she spoke: ‘It was three years ago, and a little more. Robin was outlawed then, and in Sherwood. We were not yet wed. I was out hawking near Winchester, and I believed myself to be safely under the protection of the Lady Eleanor of Aquitaine. I was wrong. A score of riders took me prisoner – they galloped up, scared away the other ladies and killed my two Gascon bodyguards; then one of them took my horse’s bridle in his hand. It was as simple as that. I was not even bound; they merely forced me to ride north to Nottingham. It was all so impersonal, so cold-blooded; they barely spoke to me. I felt I had been taken like a trophy, a spoil of war. But they did me no harm. They just installed me in the castle tower with food and water, and clean linen and a comb, and a couple of guards outside the door. I felt I was being stored away for future use, like a box of apples in a hay loft.’

Tuck took her cold hand in his two warm ones; he smiled encouragingly but he said nothing.

‘For three days, I spoke to nobody. I just sat in my little round room at the top of the tower. I slept a lot, I looked out of the window, I combed my hair. I thought Robin would ransom me, or make some sort of arrangement for my release. To be honest, I was more bored than frightened. Each day seemed to last for ever. The guards wouldn’t speak; I had nothing to do but sit there.

‘On the fourth day, after nightfall, Ralph Murdac came to see me. And do you know what? I was actually pleased to see him. I’d known him all my life – my father knew his father, and while I also knew that he and Robin hated each other and were sworn enemies, until then it had all seemed a little like a game. As if it were not truly real. I was a lonely prisoner, and here was someone I knew well coming to visit me. Of course, I also knew that it was Murdac who had imprisoned me – but, despite that, his seemed to me to be a friendly face. But I’m not explaining this very well.’

‘I do understand,’ Tuck murmured.

Marie-Anne wiped her nose again with the kerchief.

‘You must tell no one of this, Father. Please, swear to me that this knowledge shall be to you as sacred as the confessional.’

‘I swear it,’ the priest said gravely.

‘Oh, Tuck, I was so pleased to see Ralph when he came on the fourth day. I greeted him warmly. I smiled. I asked him if he had been in contact with Robin yet about a ransom, but he told me that I must not think of Robin any longer. That I would not see him again. And then he asked me to marry him. Me, his prisoner! He got down on his knees and begged me to wed him, to be his wife. I was quite shocked: I thought that my betrothal to Robin, that my love for him, was common knowledge. But apparently this made no difference to Ralph. He said that he loved me, that he had loved me since we were youngsters, that he would always love me; he said he wanted to join our houses and our lives together for ever. I almost laughed. Perhaps I did show some small amusement. For I could not take little Ralphie Murdac seriously as a potential lover, a husband. It was ridiculous. And so I said no. I told him that I loved Robin and only Robin and that I would have no other man. And he became very angry. He said, and I will remember this until my dying day, he said, “We shall see how your precious Robin feels after I have had my turn with you. We shall see how much he desires soiled goods.”‘