Orphan of Destiny (21 page)

I looked at his expression quizzically.

“I recognized the words
Robard Hode
and
Sherwood Forest
,” he said. Ah, that was why he was smiling. “But what does the rest say?” he asked.

“It says you are wanted for crimes against the King and that a reward is being offered by William Wendenal,” I said.

“Excellent! A price on my head!” he exclaimed, even happier than before. “I found it on a signpost in a village I rode through this morning. Does it say how much I’m worth?”

“Alas, no, it is not specific as to your value,” I replied.

“How can you joke about this?” Maryam exclaimed, shaking her head. “This isn’t funny.”

“It most certainly is,” Robard said. “If there’s to be a price on my head, I want to make sure I’m not being undersold. Besides,” he said, handing her the parchment so she could read it for herself, “aren’t you proud of the fact that I could read well enough to recognize my own death warrant?”

Maryam shook her head in exasperation. “Yes, Robard, I’m very proud of you. But I’d still be if you couldn’t read a word. This is nothing to make light of. All this time, as we’ve traveled together, you’ve wanted nothing more than to go home to your family. And after seeing your land and the people, I understand why you were so eager. But this . . .” She shook the parchment at him. “This changes everything! You’re not safe here. You’ve made an enemy of the Shire Reeve, and with times being so desperate, many will turn against you at the thought of a reward and . . .”

Robard quickly drew an arrow from his wallet and let it fly. It plunked into a tree a short distance away. He had moved so quickly,

I had had no time to react and at first thought we were under attack. I scrambled to draw my sword and Maryam crouched, reaching for her daggers.

“That is what I think of William Wendenal and his price on my head. Both of you calm down. The Shire Reeve is not to be feared. He revealed his true colors back in Sherwood. He is a coward, and as for his reward he can kiss my—”

“Robard!” Maryam exclaimed.

“What?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

With an exasperated sigh, Maryam stormed off into the woods. Angel apparently took her side and trotted along beside her.

“Why is she so upset?” he asked me.

“You’re asking me?” I said. “How many times must I remind you I grew up in a monastery? Perhaps she feels you’re being reckless, refusing to acknowledge how dangerous your life has become. You realize once this is over and you return to Sherwood, it will not be peaceful. Not as long as William Wendenal is there.”

Robard plopped down on a log next to the fire. “Feh,” he said, kicking at one of the flaming timbers with his boot. “Wendenal doesn’t worry me.”

We let the conversation drop, and before long Maryam returned from her sojourn to the forest and we all fell into a fitful sleep, with each of us taking turns standing watch.

The next morning, we ate a light breakfast from the bag of food Tuck had sent along with us and then Robard rode off, as was his custom.

Later in the day, we skirted the city of Leeds and kept heading north. The countryside became more remote and uncultivated, with dense forest and underbrush, and it was often difficult to find a clear trail. We crossed back and forth trying to make decent time, but the landscape did not cooperate.

A few days later we finally pushed past the city of Gateshead and made better time along the coast. Now that we were firmly inside Scottish boundaries, Little John’s words came back to me and I worried about the clans. Each morning as Robard prepared to depart on his scout, I begged him not to engage in any conflict with anyone. The last thing we needed was angry Scotsmen chasing us in addition to the King’s Guards and whatever Templars Sir Hugh had enlisted. He promised he wouldn’t, and for several days he spoke to no one.

One night he returned to our camp and asked to see the crude map Little John had drawn for us.

“What was the name of the river leading to Rosslyn?” he asked.

“The River Esk,” I replied. “Why?”

“I found it,” he said. “There is a small hamlet not far north of here, and I inquired from a smith if he knew the river. Told him I had cousins lived along it, south of Edinborough. He wasn’t a friendly chap. Scotsmen aren’t free with the talk. But I dragged the location out of him, and sure enough rode off and found it.”

We were almost there. As we lighted a fire that evening and sat by it talking amongst ourselves, I pondered our next moves. We should reach Rosslyn tomorrow, and I felt excitement and nervousness all at once. After months of desperate travel, the end of my journey was near.

As the fire dimmed, we all grew quiet and I wondered if Maryam and Robard were thinking the same thoughts as I. Then a low growl sounded in Angel’s throat and she stood up. We were shocked to see our camp surrounded by ten mounted men. They all wore kilts and carried large battle-axes, swords and various other instruments for killing and maiming.

We did not have to worry about finding the Scots. They had found us.

28

T
he three of us stood back to back, our weapons in our hands. Angel growled and barked and stood in front of me. The men said nothing and their horses stood stock-still. Their faces were painted in an odd assortment of colors. One of them did not brandish a weapon and nudged his horse forward.

“Guid evenin’ tae yoo,” he said.

“What did he say?” Robard whispered to me.

“I’m not sure. I think he said he was going to eat us,” I answered back.

“What?” Robard cried.

“I think he said ‘good evening,’” Maryam offered.

“I thought he said ‘good eating,’” I replied.

The man on horseback watched us talk amongst ourselves for a moment.

“Yur oan McCullen land,” he said.

“What did he say now?” Robard asked.

“Something about someone named McCullen and his hand,” I said.

“No, he said he’s with McCullen’s band. They look like they’re just back from a fight or about to leave for one,” Maryam said.

“Tristan, you better see if you can talk us out of this,” Robard said.

“Me? Why me?”

“You chose this campsite—this is your fault,” he said. “Besides, you gave me specific instructions not to talk to any Scots.”

“What? No, it was Maryam who found it, not me,” I said.

The man, who I assumed was their leader since he did the talking, nudged his horse a little closer to us. With the firelight, I could see him more clearly, and immediately wished I could not. Scars lined his face like a brush pile, and he had them everywhere. Over both eyes, along his chin and one in particular that started by his left ear, traveled down his cheek and disappeared into the collar of his cloak.

“Wha’ brings ye oot haur?” he asked.

“Hello, my name is Tristan. May I ask your name?”

The man tilted his head back and looked at me as if he were trying to focus. I gripped the hilt of my sword tightly. I wondered if I had violated some ancient Scottish custom by requesting his name. Knowing my luck I had just challenged him to a duel.

The man grunted, “A’am th’ Earl a’ McCullen. Yur oan mah lain.” He was an Earl with a hand in the air? Something about his hand?

Looking up at the man and his nine mounted companions, I decided diplomacy was our only option. Slowly and with great deliberation, I retuned my sword to its scabbard and held my hands up in front of me.

“Tristan!” Robard said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? Have you gone mad?”

“We’re not going to fight our way out of this one, Robard. I’m wondering if we aren’t on his land and he’s asking me for an explanation of why we’re trespassing,” I said.

“If we have trespassed here, we are sorry and we will quickly be on our way,” I said.

He looked down on me from his horse and then dismounted slowly, never taking his eyes off the three of us. Slowly he strode toward me until he was an arm’s length away. He was taller than I was, by a half foot at least, and he looked even more frightening close up.

“That’s a braw lookin’ sword thaur,” he said. He pointed to Sir Thomas’ battle sword on my back. It was impossible for me to divine his meaning. Did he want the sword? Was he going to steal it from me?

I held up my left hand and very slowly, using just the tips of my fingers, pulled the sword free of the scabbard. It was so heavy I nearly dropped it, but I held on to it, grasped the blade with my right hand and held it out for him. He took it from me and inspected it closely.

“Urr ye Crusaders?” Then it came to me: he wanted to know if I was back from the war.

“Yes, yes!” I said, nodding vigorously. “We’re back from Outremer.” The word got his attention.

“Ootremer? Urr ye a Templar?”

“Yes, sir, I am of the Order but not a knight,” I said, and then wondered if I had made a mistake. What if he considered the Knights Templar to be his enemies?

“Beautiful blade,” he said, returning the sword to me. “Urr ye hungry?”

I didn’t know what to do or say. Without understanding him, I was afraid my next words could be my last if I said the wrong thing. To my immense relief he repeated himself and made a motion of spooning food into his mouth. Aha!

“Are we hungry? Yes, we are,” I said, which was true, as we had not eaten yet.

The man gave a command and his men dismounted. From out of the shadows they emerged with several sacks and jugs that had been tied to their horses. I gave a nod to Robard and Maryam, and they lowered their weapons.

“I think they’re going to feed us,” I said.

“Are you sure they aren’t going eat us?” Robard cracked.

“I’m reasonably certain they won’t,” I answered.

He knelt by the fire and watched as his men prepared the meal. In short order a flank of venison was roasting over the fire and they passed around a bag of bread. We each took a small piece.

“My name is Tristan,” I said again, holding out my hand. The man took it and nearly crushed every bone in it with his grip.

“The Earl a’ McCullen,” he said. I finally figured out that he was the Earl of someplace called McCullen, which I assumed was a nearby estate or manor. Or maybe his name was McCullen. I couldn’t be sure.

He broke off a small piece of bread and held it out to Angel, who still maintained her position between us. Her resolve melted on seeing the scrap of food in his hand. She inched forward and gulped down the bread. Then she allowed the man to scratch behind her ears.

“Whaur ye headin’?” the Earl asked. The more he talked, the better I could understand his thick Scottish brogue.

“We are traveling to Rosslyn,” I said. His eyes went wide, and before I could speak, a small ax appeared out of his cloak, and he tossed it so quickly and effortlessly, I almost did not see it until it thudded into a tree ten feet away.

Apparently, I had said the wrong thing.

29

N
o one moved. The entire camp was silent. Maryam and Robard stood stock-still, afraid to reach for their weapons, their eyes wide. The Earl glared at me.

“Why urr ye ridin’ tae Rosslyn?” he asked, the fingers of his right hand tickling the hilt of his sword, which hung at his side.

“Well . . . you see . . . we are going there to meet someone,” I said.

“Who will ye meit thaur?”

Now I was truly unsure of what to do or say. I couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that the Earl and his men had been raiding or fighting someone, maybe in northern England or perhaps another clan. When he understood we were Crusaders, he made some internal judgment and perhaps accepted us as kindred spirits. He was certainly no one to be trifled with, and I could not reveal my true mission, but a lie very close to the truth might work.

“I need to deliver a letter to Father William at a church there,” I said.

“Faither William?” he asked.

I nodded yes and smiled, wanting to make sure the angry Scotsman knew I was his friend.

“Why urr ye seekin’ Faither William?” he asked.

“I served with his brother in Outremer. I’m sorry to say, he was killed in battle. I’m taking his last words to Father William.” It was all I could think of on the spot, and as soon as the words left my mouth, I realized he could easily discover my deception. What if he knew Father William didn’t have a brother? Or he wanted to see the letter? Knowing my luck, he
was
Father William’s brother.

“Oh, puir Faither William,” he said. He bowed his head and closed his eyes and prayed silently for a moment, then crossed himself.

“In th’ mornan’ we’ll tak’ ye thaur,” he said.

Robard and Maryam had relaxed, but we were all still wary.

“Did he just say ‘there’s a bell cow here’?” Robard asked.

“No, he said he’ll take us to Rosslyn in the morning.”

“Wonderful,” said Maryam, not meaning it at all.

The Scots were excellent campfire cooks, and we listened to them laugh and tell stories of their exploits long into the night. We couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying but were afraid to be impolite. From their laughter and antics, the tales were apparently funny and full of adventure. We’ll never know. Then it was time for rest, and they all dropped where they sat and went to sleep.