CHAPTER Twenty
The morning came in hard. Shadowed skies blew out over Nottinghamshire, hailing the castle and grounds with snowy breath. I watched it through the
window, and it did nothing to ease my heart. The cold and the damp would change the tension of the bows and arrows. But Rob wouldn’t never shoot without
testing his arrows first. I wondered if they would let him use his own bow.
No. Why would the prince ever give Rob any such gift?
Rob would be fine—he knew any bow well enough and were no stranger to such weather. He were leaps and bounds better than Gisbourne if he had his own
weapon, his own arrows, his own target. With such things taken from him, they’d still be a fair match. Rob would win. Rob had to win.
Or, at least, I prayed it were so.
With de Lacy out of the way, it were truly a contest between Gisbourne and Rob. Gisbourne slept sound as I watched and worried and ached. Gisbourne were
in the best condition he could be. What if Rob hadn’t slept a lick? He were good with his weapon, but would he win?
I looked at my husband and thought of de Lacy’s hand. What would they do to Rob to keep him from winning? It seemed they were trying to beat him down
yesterday, and it had been close to working. But he were still in for the archery, and I knew the prince wouldn’t never let it be won so easy.
My hand burned and I wondered what price Rob would have to pay for being the people’s favorite.
Gisbourne stirred and I tucked the blanket tighter round me. “Close the damn window, you crazy woman,” he grunted from the bed.
I didn’t. I stared outside, watching the swirls of snow like it were meant to sweep me into it, steal me away into its silence. Snow were a thief of
noise, of sun, of darkness. No day would ever be bright and no night would ever be truly black under its curtain, and all that were under it fell silent
and still.
It were a fair perfect thing for the archery competition.
Gisbourne cursed and threw off his blankets, bellowing for Eadric to come and dress him.
I felt Gisbourne’s eyes on me, and I looked to him. “Do you fear for your beloved?” he asked me, smiling dark.
“Always,” I told him. There didn’t seem any need to lie or bluster about now. “I think that’s the nature of loving someone. I fear for him with
every breath.” I met Gisbourne’s eyes. “But I also trust with every bit of my heart that he can trounce you.”
Gisbourne’s smile twisted. “Don’t think for a second, my dear wife, that Prince John will ever let a vagabond be named sheriff.”
“And your honor can stand that?” I asked. “To win, knowing it were all false?”
“False?” he asked, chuckling. “No. The prince promised this seat to me long ago and he damn well better deliver. The winner isn’t the falsity; it’s
the entire game. It’s been nothing but a farce from the start.”
“And what of me? What did he promise you to marry me? You say it were a bribe, but I don’t understand why he would ever do it.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I think you’re lying. Most because if the prince bribed you to marry me you’d never grant me an annulment. You’d never even think of it.”
His eyes met mine, dark and level. “He’s toyed with me for long enough. I have followed the letter of his orders. I don’t give a damn if he doesn’t
like it.”
Staring at him, I almost believed it. I shook my head, looking out at the snow. “That ain’t the way of it at all, is it? You will always fear the
prince and his wrath.” I laid my head on my knees as winter wind blew over my face. “You’re just his dog. That’s all you ever were.”
He made a grunting sort of noise but didn’t answer. Eadric came and began to dress him, and after a while, Mary came for me, in what I hoped would be
the last day I ever sat in noble dress.
The nobles’ dais were bigger and fancier than before. The prince, Eleanor, Isabel, and Winchester were all on a platform higher still, the rest of us
flanked out more careful than before. I were closer to the edge now, displayed, and I felt like some weak thing they had trussed up to remind Rob to keep
his place.
A horn sounded and the contestants took the field. They high-stepped over the falling snow—which, in fair amusing fashion, pages were sweeping idiot-
like from the field of play—and came to the cleared space several feet from the nobles’ dais, full across from the heaving, cheering, wild throng of
common folk.
The men looked different now. Free from the metal of armor, it weren’t a game of defense now. Each man were bare of all but his skill.
Rob glowed. He were red-cheeked from the cold, but more than that, his eyes were bright, a lush blue like fall sky that every flake of snow seemed to
make brighter, bolder, more beautiful. His shoulders were square and strong, standing firm against the world.
His eyes met mine and his smile were quick and sly, a slip of the old Rob I knew before the nightmares had begun. The Rob that were every inch the hero
of the people. My blood ran hot and I smiled back at him.
It would stand. Whatever strange and awful tricks Gisbourne and Prince John had devised, whatever the outcome, I felt it in my heart that the world would
be right again. Even if it weren’t Rob, a lawful sheriff would take the seat and the people would eat, and live, and be free from such tyranny as they
had known. Good would stand, and evil wouldn’t win out this day.
Their names were called, and Prince John welcomed them. He explained the game—four rounds with a target that would be more removed with each round, and
anyone that missed the inner circle were eliminated. Best shot would win the game, the prize of the golden arrow, and the seat of sheriff. Him what won
were to take his oath as soon as the game were done.
There were five targets; the first distance were twenty paces from the mark. It were a shot a child could make, but it were meant to be easy. The men
took several minutes to practice, testing the spine of the foreign arrows, testing their bend. How supple the spine of an arrow were changed everything
in the way it flew, and it weren’t something you could know without flying them first.
The horn blew for the start of the first round. Fifteen men were competing, and the first five stepped up. Gisbourne were in them.
Edward Marshal were overseeing the competition, and he stood to the side, half between the target and the archers. He raised his arm, and they pulled
arrows from the quivers staked into the ground, and five creaks sounded as the archers drew the strings back, fixing their bows with that lovely tension
that set an itch in my hands.
I looked at Gisbourne. His stance were perfect, balanced, easy, and sure, his arms filled with strength and power that the bow didn’t bother with. All a
bow cared for were the beat of your heart, that tiny space between beats, between breaths, when your mind were clear and clean and the arrow could slice
right down the center of it.
Marshal’s hand dropped, and four arrows flew. Gisbourne’s took a moment to fly, and I could feel it, him waiting for that perfect half-breath.
His were the only one to hit the center ring, and as the others gaped at him, he turned around and smiled at me, wide and brash. I nodded to him. It
weren’t within me to try and say he weren’t an epic marksman.
Five more stepped up, and Robin were in that wave. He rolled his shoulders and smiled at the crowd, and they cheered for him. He could make this shot
blind, and they all knew it.
His arrow hit center. Of the other four, three more hit the inner ring.
Robin turned to me and winked as they left the marks. The last five moved to the marks, notched, drew, and let fly. Three more arrows hit the inner ring.
It were a fair paltry showing, to be true. Even with a broke hand I could have made that shot.
Eight archers moved to the next round, and the herald sounded the horn, causing four small pages and one overtall page to run hell for leather over the
snow, churning up flakes behind them and even kicking snow onto their own backs. They grabbed the targets and hefted them up.
“One!” Edward Marshal bellowed to them. They all took a pace. “Two!” he cried, and they moved again. He did it eighteen more times till they had
moved twenty paces.
Isabel were the first to titter. The lanky lad’s target were the full length of a man farther than the other four, and Marshal yelled and waved his
hands till the red-faced boy brought it back in line. The whole court and stands laughed at the show, but I were silent.
Five men stepped up to the marks, Gisbourne and Robin at opposite ends of the line. This time their brash and boastful looks weren’t for me. They looked
down the row to each other, and I watched as Gisbourne grinned and nodded, and Robin just inclined his head with a touch of a smile.
Marshal’s arm fell, and only two arrows flew; the third, a smaller man, waited a breath, same as Gisbourne and Robin. I watched as Rob’s eyes drifted
shut right before he let the tail of the arrow go.
Rob, Gisbourne, and the short one advanced.
In the next wave, two more advanced to the next round. It seemed silly, really; already, their lack of skill were showing and their arrows were just in
the bounds of the inner circle, where Gisbourne and Robin’s were true and hard to the center.
The horn blew again, and this time the sweeping pages set to the fields and the players withdrew. Eleanor and Isabel stood, handed off the dais by
Winchester and the prince. I stood too, swaying toward Eleanor like I were naturally drawn to her, but Isabel stepped quick to me. “Come, Lady Leaford.
My legs want for walking.” She hooked her arm through my good one like a man might, and drew me off with a wave to her ladies to leave us.
“I don’t care if you tell anyone, you know.”
I looked to her. She raised her chin, and her pale skin against the snow seemed bright like oyster shells. “Your Highness?” I asked.
“That Lady Essex was attending my husband so late. Gisbourne was quite upset about it, but if you think I will waste breath trying to convince you not
to tell the court, you are mistaken.”
There weren’t much like getting fingers hacked off to make you forget an adultery or two. “It’s not my place to say such or judge,” I told her
honestly. “But I don’t hold no thoughts of your husband being a great man.”
Her head whipped to me in such a way what sent her dark curls flying, lush like suede and making me miss my hair, my only bit of vain. “He is a great
man. All great men cannot be held accountable to the standards of peasant marriages.”
“It ain’t about nobility,” I snapped back. “Faithfulness is God’s own law. It’s a commandment. Break it or don’t but don’t say that nobles aren’
t accountable.”
“Royalty is picked by God,” she told me. “They rule by the right of God. That’s why it’s a mortal sin to spill their blood, to dishonor them. And
John is no different.” She tossed her hair again. “Besides, I hold no illusions that he ever loved me for more than the gold I brought him. I know him
better than he thinks I do, you know. I see him looking at that French tart Isabelle—like two more letters without sound makes her name so much more
elegant than mine—and he doesn’t care for her beauty. He sees French armies, French power. French gold. When he wants beauty he’ll turn to Lady Essex.
”
Who were the French Isabelle? I wanted to know, but it didn’t seem wise to ask.
“You see, you think you’re so very special for your marriage without love. So tortured and martyred. But we all marry without love, Marian. You aren’t
special at all.”
I frowned. “Did I ever say different?”
Isabel stopped. “Just tell me. I don’t like not knowing, and even Guy clearly knows something and won’t tell me. I won’t have it.”
“I don’t know what you’re about, Isabel,” I told her.
“Eleanor!” she near shouted, and looked around like it might summon the white lady. “What interest does Eleanor have in you, your parents, the lot of
it?”
“My parents?”
She folded her arms. “Eleanor of Aquitaine saw the lord and lady Leaford off from the courtyard this morning. In the snow. Alone. I saw her embrace Lady
Leaford,” she told me, her nose raised higher than ever. “Tell me what that is about this moment.”
My face folded into a scowl. “Your Highness, you should ask Eleanor. Or my husband, it seems, but I don’t know a damn thing about it.” She started to
speak again and I shook my head. “I intend to find a fire,” I told her.
She crossed her arms and frowned at me, but she let me go.
I skirted round the edge of things, looking for Eleanor. I saw her standing near one of the great bonfires built on the edge of the nobles’ area—I
reckoned much to keep the common sort out. Whether or not she were wearing one, she always looked like she should have a great crown upon her head. Her
skin were wrinkled over again and again, in a way that made her look lived-in and world-wise. She were small, but she had brought England and France to
their knees, with every man in between begging for her. She had crumbled old kings and raised up new ones.
She were everything a woman could ever dare to be, and my heart felt such a kinship for her. Yet I didn’t move much forward, staying back, knowing if I
went to her I couldn’t help but ask all my questions.
Like she felt me watching her, she turned and looked to me, folding her hands in front of her. She met my eyes and nodded once.
I stepped forward.
The horn blew, calling out for the next round, and we went back to the dais.
The next round seemed awful slow. Now the archers had to shoot three arrows from the increased distance, one in each of the three different circles. It
were a feat of skill what would narrow the field down sharp, but rather than understand this and allow themselves to be picked off, the louts went about
it slow and deliberate, like waiting and licking their lips would help them strike a target.
My hand set to aching besides. It hadn’t been bad; I kept it out from the blankets so it never got too warm, and that had worked for the first two
rounds. By the end of the third, I were breathing harder and could bare sit still as the pain mounted.
The third round narrowed to Rob and Gisbourne, and as the crowd cheered and jumped and waved, there were only one still body in the lot, and he were
looking at me. Allan nodded slowly and my heart jumped.
The horn sounded, and I leapt from my chair. Skirting wide around the bonfires, I moved quick to get to the stands and through the crowd. The people
swallowed me up, bodies pressing and pushing on every side, and I yelped as someone knocked into my hurt hand. The fellow turned and gave me a dirty
look.
A big body stepped in front of my path, and a warm arm came around my shoulders. “Need a hand?” Much asked, keeping me behind the shield of John’s
back.
He raised his stump with a grin and I frowned. “Terrible humor, Much.”
He shrugged, his grin fixed still. “Nobody thinks I’m very funny.”
John started moving, forcing people out of the way like a wave. “I need to find Allan,” I told Much.
“I know. He was asking for you.”
“Did you find anything?” I asked him. “Did he?”
“Find anything about what?” John asked.
“I asked the monks,” Much said. “They remember when Leaford announced his second child, but they didn’t attend lady Leaford.”
“Had they for Joanna?” I asked.
He nodded.
“What’s this about?” John asked. “What about your parents?”
I sighed and shook my head, and John craned round to glimpse me do it. “I’ll tell you later, John,” Much said.
John scowled. “Just because I’m out doesn’t mean I want to be kept out,” he grumbled.
“Allan!” I yelled, seeing the red of his hat. It ducked and bobbed and reappeared a moment later by me.
“My lady thief,” he said, taking my good hand and kissing it. His eyes fell on my arm, tucked in the sling, and his head lowered. “Yesterday—I didn’
t know what had happened.”
John looked at me, fury clouding over his mug.
“John, it’s done,” I said quick. “You don’t need to fuss.”
“What happened, Scar?”
My shoulders lifted. “The prince punished me,” I said, trying to say it like it were nothing. “He cut off two of my fingers.”
“Your—” His nostrils flared and he turned away from me, crossing his arms and glaring at the ground.
I stared at his back for a long moment before looking to Allan. “What word, Allan?”
“About your parents, none.”
“Allan! Why—” I started, but he shook his head.
“They switched the arrows.”