CHAPTER Fourteen
The Brother gave me a cloth sling to keep my arm tucked away, and I fidgeted with it on the way to supper.
“Will you stop that,” Gisbourne grunted.
“The damn monk tied me up,” I grumbled back. “I can bare move my arm.”
“I believe that’s the point.”
“I don’t like it.”
“That doesn’t really matter, does it?” Gisbourne snarled. “Be still.”
I frowned.
“I won the joust, since you’re so concerned.”
Were I meant to have been outside, watching him get his prize? “What did you win?” I asked.
“A gold figurine of a jousting knight.”
“Fitting.”
“Quite. I’ve had it melted down.”
I snorted. “So much for symbols of glory and the like.”
“I won’t need symbols when I’m sheriff. I’ll need money, and a lot of it.”
My belly twisted up at the reminder. It weren’t the archery tournament yet, but what had I been doing to see that he would lose? Not much. Mooning after
Rob, without any hope for a replacement in the contest.
The smell broke my thoughts, long before we turned into the hall. The halls were filled with scents of food, like fat roasting, and something sweeter
too. We turned into the Great Hall, and I saw the cause of it.
Three great spits had been built over giant copper bowls of fire in the center of the hall, three giant pigs skewered on the spits and pages slowly
turning their round, heavy bodies over the fire, basting them with honey that dripped onto the flames. They must have been doing it all day.
Around the spits were huge tables filled with lavish foodstuffs. There were woven breads several feet long, geese that were in their full feathered glory
but still and clear dead—one even had a tiny crown on his head. I had no idea how they could do such a thing, or if it were even meant for eating—the
creature looked like it were about to leap into flight, but it never flinched.
There were pies with such decorated crusts, slathered and buttered and baked brown, and I could only guess what were in them. The tables were studded
with finery, velvets, and gems, like even the furniture needed jewelry.
I frowned, and my stomach turned. There weren’t enough people here to eat a third of this food.
We took our seats, and the prince and princess entered. All the men stood for them, and the ladies just looked solemnly to them. Prince John helped
Isabel to sit, and then took the wine glass that were already filled and waiting for his touch. He held it aloft.
“To Guy of Gisbourne, Lord of Leaford,” Prince John bellowed out. “Our brave champion this day and the guest of honor for our feast this night!”
The hall cheered and minstrels struck up, and I saw Isabel clapping hard, gazing upon my husband. Christ, but she were daft.
I drank to him, wishing there were more of the drink to let me forget that I were married to the beast.
Far across the hall, past the fire of the spits, I saw people coming in the back of the hall. They looked to be servants of the castle, maybe folk from
Nottingham. They came closer, the fire playing in their wide, wanting eyes and making their faces look brighter and warm.
He had invited common folk to the feast? Were this Prince John’s idea, or my husband’s?
I looked to Gisbourne, and he frowned at me. Doubtful. I looked to Prince John, who were listening to a whispered word from his wife. He wrinkled his
nose a touch and drank deeply, waving a hand for the food to be served.
Then his eyes caught across the way, same as mine had.
He stood, violent, so his heavy chair rocked back on its legs before settling. “What is the meaning of this?” he bellowed over the minstrels. They
stopped, scared straight out of their instruments. “Guards!” he roared, using his arm like a lance of earlier in the day to doom their fate. “Remove
the rabble!”
I put my arm on my chair to stand, but Gisbourne grabbed it, steel in his eyes. “Our deal is off if you say a word,” he said.
“My lord prince,” said Isabel. I whipped my head round to her, but she were only looking at the prince, beautiful and calm like the moon, staring at
him, her head tilted back and exposing her throat like a lamb. “My lord, they are hungry. Surely you cannot ignore the plight of your people—they turn
to you for every sustenance, both human and spiritual. You are their bread.”
The court were rapt, her pretty lies captivating them all.
He put his hand over her cheek, and she closed her eyes like it were God Himself touching her. “My princess is as beautiful as she is wise,” he told
the court. “And so close to Christ’s own birth, we shall not be the only ones to feast tonight. Hertford! Where is de Clare?” he shouted, looking
round.
De Clare stood and came forward, kneeling hastily before the prince’s table. “My lord prince.”
“See to it that the people of Nottingham feast tonight as well.”
Isabel swept her head down like she were to cry. “My lord prince is generous and kind,” she cried, overloud for talking to her lap, and the hall
cheered. De Clare came up and whispered in Prince John’s ear, and the prince whispered back. De Clare nodded and left.
“Will he really feed them?” I asked quiet of Winchester.
“He will,” Winchester said. “The prince is capable of great generosity; I wouldn’t say it’s natural to him, but he is capable.”
They began carving the pigs and soon a plate were heaped in front of me with a trencher of bread beside it. I took some of the roasted pig and though I
half expected the whole thing to taste like the cuts of bacon Tuck sometimes made, it were more like crisp-skinned ham. It were hot, which weren’t an
everyday luxury, and rich beyond measure. I took a few bites and ate some of the bread, watching those around me.
Men were filthy things. They bit until the juice ran into their beards, and they swiped at their maws and wiped it wherever they could land their hands.
They let bits of food drop into the rushes on the floor and the dogs had a grand time of it. They ate and ate and ate.
The wine flowed overmuch, and by the end of the meal, the minstrels were kicking up a fine tune, and Prince John clapped his hands and called for
dancing. He took his wife’s hand and led her closer to the minstrels, to the bit of room between the eating tables and the ones laden with food.
I didn’t ever remember seeing dancing much at Leaford, but I were shocked by how common it seemed. Granted, the village folk held each other close and
tight when they started to dance wild and fast to music, and Prince John left a much more respectable distance between him and his wife, but they were
hopping and kicking and turning about, clasped at the hand, like anyone were wont to do round a fire.
Other nobles joined in, and Winchester asked me quiet if I should like to dance.
“I don’t much know how,” I said to him. “Another night, when I’ve watched a fair bit.” I smiled. “Or perhaps when they all think me less wild.
Though if you could help me with the chair, your Grace, I wouldn’t mind making a slip of it,” I said.
He chuckled. “Of course, my lady,” he said, and graciously stood. “Lord Leaford, permit me?” he asked of Gisbourne.
Gisbourne waved his hand. Hawk-eyed, he watched as I stood, but Winchester offered me his hand like we were to dance and led me off until Gisbourne
looked away.
Winchester kissed my hand. “You’re free, little bird. Fly as you will.”
I bobbed a curtsy to him and quit the hall.
The door I had chosen led out to the upper bailey, and the night were warmer than some, with a crisp smell to it that probably meant snow. There were a
page at the door that called me “milady,” and I sent him to fetch my cloak from my chambers. And he went.
Seemed there were loads of useful tricks for noble folks.
I weren’t halfway across the bailey when the page brought it to me, settling the warm weight on my shoulders. “Thank you,” I told him.
“Milady.”
I walked closer to the gaps in the bailey wall—meant for archers and the like—that looked out onto the town. I heard the snow crunch a bit and looked
back toward the boy. He were just standing there, watching me.
“Are you from round here, or do you travel with the prince?” I asked him.
“I’m in the earl’s household, milady,” he said, showing me his tunic. As if that meant something to me. I knew most lords branded their servants, but
I knew little of the colors and he didn’t have a coat of arms on it.
“Sorry, lad. Winchester, yes?”
He nodded.
“An excellent man. Is he a good master?”
“Excellent in all things that I’ve seen, milady.”
“Are you training to be a knight in his household?”
“Yes, milady.”
I rested my arms on the smooth stone ledge, imagining the months before when all the nobles, gussied up like I were now, rushed over to see smoke in the
village below. I turned back to where the entrance to the prison stood, half hoping to see Gisbourne towering over me and Rob fighting him back, but it
were silent and empty. So much had changed that night. Rob gave himself up to save me, gave me the first hope for his heart, and started me down a road
that led to the cursed ring on my hand.
“Milady?” the page asked me.
“Hmm?” I looked to him, but he weren’t looking at me.
“Milady, do you hear that?”
Shaking free of the past, I listened. There were shouts and clanking, heavy clangs.
Fair awkward, I jumped up into the narrow, tilted window and leaned out, holding careful with my good arm. I leaned till I could feel the wind whip me
and see the fuss.
“The gates,” I said, jumping down before he could help me or protest. “Come on, lad, the gates!”
Picking up my skirts with my one hand, I set to running, and he yelped and followed. We slid down the snow-slicked gauntlet to the second bailey, running
over that yard to the next gauntlet.
Breaking onto the lower bailey, the gates were in full view, and it were mad. The gates were half lowered and the people were heaving against the guards
with torches and twisted faces, screaming and crying and throwing food.
The castle guards were yelling to each other, barking to push the people back, keep them out of the castle, protect the prince. A layer of guards with
drawn swords were setting up behind those with their armored hands on the people of Nottingham.
The food that were sailing over their heads were splattering in the snow. Bits, scraps, black-spotted potatoes, and other things I couldn’t quite name
that smelled of rot without so much as a hot wind to carry it, and I knew what it were in an instant—the prince’s gift, his mighty bounty. Spoiled food
and leftovers.
The gates lowered another notch.
My place weren’t never inside the castle, not while the people were being pushed back and abused.
My place weren’t never behind a line of men with their swords drawn who knew not what they were meant to protect.
My place were on the other side of the gates.
I took off running.
The guards may have called to me; they weren’t ready to hold back someone from behind them, and I broke through the armed guards with ease. I ran for
the seam where common folk and guards were pushed together, and saw them heave their fists and elbows like arrows through the faces of the hungry and the
poor. I saw blood and brutal injustice.
The gates slammed down not moments after I made it out, and the crowd surged against the portcullis, carrying me with it in the flicker of torches and
dark.
I fought my way back until the crowd let me go, and behind the throng were other souls standing about, watching, clutching their children and keeping
back.
“What happened?” I asked a full-cheeked woman, going to her three young girls and pulling my cloak off my shoulders and round them.
She showed me a bit of bread, crawling with mealworms. “They gave us food,” she said, sniffling. “And it was rotten. A few of the children took sick
fast, and then the men started for the castle.”
It dawned on me, sick and awful. “Because you ate the food anyway.”
A fresh wash of tears went down her cheeks, but her little ones didn’t notice, giggling and playing inside the cloak. “We’re hungry,” she whispered.
I looked at her, straight in the eyes, and I wanted to wipe her tears off her face but I couldn’t rob her of them, like for me to say it weren’t so
would unmake her pain. It would be a mock of it. “I’ll get you food,” I said. “Before the night is over, I’ll get you food.”
She cried more, but I didn’t think it were much because she were grateful. I think it were because she didn’t believe me and feared for her babies.
“Go get warm,” I told her.
She nodded, taking the cloak from her daughters.
“No,” I said quick, stepping back. “It’s for them.”
“You’ll freeze,” she said, confused.
I shook my head. “Keep it. Please.”
I went from her before she could give it back, and I set to running, down to the closest inn I knew. I didn’t bother going inside. I went to their
stables and filched a horse before any could tell me no, hauling atop it and tearing my skirt to sit astride the beast. I set off for Edwinstowe, praying
Rob were awake and I wouldn’t have to venture into hell to pull him back. I rode into the dark, snow-silenced countryside, for the first time in months
feeling like my feet were carrying me toward something and not away.
It were long enough into the night that the lads might have been at the monastery already, but not enough that it were a certainty. I didn’t think, at
least. My blood roaring were the only thing keeping my body in motion; my skin were thick and clumsy and I’d long since stopped feeling for the wet and
cold.
I went to Tuck’s, sure I’d at least find John there. Not even bothering to peep in the window, I dropped from the horse and burst into the place. It
felt like my body caught up to my blood, and it were a violent coming together, more like stabbing pain than heat. There were a fair amount of men there,
and I could bare look upon them before I bent over, wheezing and shivering as the warmth broke through.
Someone were calling my name, and I straightened in time for Rob to pull me into a hug, dragging me off the ground and hugging me so hard I feared I
might shatter, and my hand slung against my ribs protested.
“Scar, you’re like ice,” he said, pulling me over to the huge fireplace and kicking other folk out of their seats. Much appeared with a blanket and
John were a moment behind him, and in a breath, even half-frozen, I felt like no time had passed, and all were like it used to be.
Rob tugged off my silly shoes and wrapped his hands around my feet even as I winced away, the heat hurting. “Jesus, Scar,” he murmured, looking at my
face in full. “What, did you run here from Nottingham?”
“There are riots,” I said, trying to suck in a deep breath against the cold.
“Riots?” Much asked. “What for?”
“The prince gave the people rotten food from the feast,” I said. “A few of the little ones took sick, and the people just … fought.”
Much looked at John, who frowned back at him, but Rob just rubbed my feet more and smiled. “I take it you came up with a plan on your way.”
I nodded. “I know where the castle food stores are. Most of it collected from Nottinghamshire.”
John shook his head. “No,” he said.
We all looked to him.
“No,” he repeated, fair shocked, like it were a crime we didn’t know what he were about. “I’m not doing it.”
“You heard her,” Rob said. “Children are dying. What would you have us do? Nothing?”
“Yes!” he snapped. “Because that’s all it ever is. Nothing but sticking our necks out. Changing nothing, fixing nothing.”
“John—” Much said.
“Actions have punishments,” he said. “We steal the food, hand it out, then what? You think Prince John will just let us off about our way? We almost
died fighting the sheriff and this is the prince. He will kill us,” he said.
“He won’t kill me,” I said, scowling at John.
He jumped forward and grabbed my chin, tilting my bruises to the light. “No, he has his own ways of punishing you, Scar, and I’m not putting that on
you. Rob may be fine with turning your face purple but I’m not.”
Rob let go of my feet to stand to John’s challenge, but I didn’t bother. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Rob, sit,” I said.
“Are you questioning my honor, Little? You, who is acting like a damn coward right now?”
“I’m questioning all of it! You think you’re ready to fight the damn prince? You’ve barely slept in a month! You’ll get us all pinched covering your
worthless hide.”
Much stood too. “Are you two really going to brawl in Tuck’s? Again?”
“Again?” I snapped, and they both looked fair sheep-like ’bout it.
“If you want out of the band, just say so, John. That’s all there is to it,” Robin spat, sitting back down and grabbing my feet.
I kicked him, dangerous close to a part of him he prized. He grunted and held my foot up, scowling, but I scowled back. “Don’t threaten him,” I said.
“Honestly, you like to throw that about a fair bit. ‘Out of the band this, out of the band that.’ We’re barely a band right now so don’t go kicking
people out. It ain’t nice.”
Much frowned, and I sighed.
“Isn’t nice,” I corrected.
Much smiled.
“I want out of the band,” John said, quiet and serious.
“John,” I said soft, looking to him.
Much looked betrayed and Rob just gaped, rage-filled.
“Bess is carrying my child,” he said, quieter still, glancing ’bout the room to see who heard. “And she has finally agreed to marry me. I have a
family now, and I’m not risking that so some other family can eat. It may be selfish, but what the hell are we doing this for if not to protect our own?
” He looked at me, just at me, and I knew it hurt him to say it. “I’ll help where I can. I’ll go hunting tonight if you want me to. But I can’t do
anything that’s going to get me thrown in prison and leave her alone.”
“It is selfish!” Rob railed. “What do you think will happen to Bess if we can’t feed the people of Nottinghamshire? If we can’t have a sheriff that
will care for us?”
“Then I will hunt and feed her myself. And if they come to our door with swords and knives I will kill every one that tries to step over the threshold.
” This stare were for Rob now, and Rob looked ready to step up and counter that too.
I stood, going over to John and hugging him tight. “You may be an overprotective lout, John, but if for that and nothing else you’ll make the best
father. And husband.” I squeezed tighter with my one good arm.
He hugged me straight off my feet. “Thank you, Scar.”
“When will you marry?”
“Soon,” he said, putting me down. “After the new year.”
“Congratulations,” Much said, shaking John’s hand. “A baby. That’s … that’s … well, I suppose it’s not surprising, given how often you—”
“Much!” I snapped.
Much smiled and nodded. “She’s right, you know. You’ll be a good father.”
We all turned to make room for Rob to come over and give his congratulations, but he were still sitting at the hearth, scowling. He stood. “I won’t
congratulate you, John, on deserting us. We’ve been your family for years and you’re abandoning us.”
My heart dropped. “Rob, you don’t mean—”
“I do,” he told me, harsh. He stared at John. “You bedded enough tavern wenches to have gotten one of them with child, and now—”
He didn’t get to finish the thought; John flattened him.