The Two Torcs (13 page)

“How cheeky of you! What would you have done if you had lost the wager?” Jansa asked, taking another sip of the wine. She pursed her lips at the taste of it.

“It wouldn’t have been good, I’ll tell you that.” Will took another gulp from the bottle. “But I had a secret weapon.”

“Really? What sort of weapon?”

“Thanks to years of being bored at mass, I’ve learned how to stay on my feet even when I fall asleep or pass out.”

“Impossible!” she scoffed enthusiastically.

“No, not impossible,” he said, holding up a finger. “The trick is to lock your knees, and to balance yourself perfectly straight above them. Then you have nowhere to go.”

“Oh, I think you’re full of it, Will Scarlet,” she said.

“I’ll tell you what I’m not full of. Wine—at least, not yet. I think we need another bottle,” he said, turning the now empty one upside down on the table.

“Another one?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, and then I’ll finish telling you about Raleigh. You should have seen the look on his face after we’d each gone through an entire bottle of my uncle’s best stuff.”

A voice cut the air behind him.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Will turned around and saw the steward, flanked by two guards, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Steward! You’re just in time to hear the story about when I out-drank Lord Locksley. Or wait, which story was I telling?” he asked, turning to Jansa.

“You were telling me about out-drinking Lord Raleigh. The fifteen-gold-coin wager.”

“That’s right,” Will said, pounding the table. “Did I tell you about out-drinking Locksley yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, first Raleigh, then Locksley. So, I had bet him those fifteen gold pieces I could stay standing longer.”

Will was slurring his words even more, and waving his hands about in the air. His head nodded in cadence with his words.

The steward cleared his throat, and Will turned to look at him, letting his head roll a bit loosely on his neck. Although he was trying to give the impression of a relaxed, inebriated man, nothing could be farther from the truth. His heart was pounding, and he just hoped that if he started sweating in fear it would be taken as sweating from the drink.

“Oh, you want me to start from the beginning?” he asked.

“No,” the steward said, looking skeptical. “So you have been here the entire time, telling your sordid stories to the cook?”

“Why not,” Will said with a grin. “She knows where all the best wine is. Besides, I came in here looking for one of those new kitchen girls, you know the one with the curly black hair? She’s a fetching one, isn’t she? She’s out doing something or other with vegetables, so I figured I’d wait.”

“The king wants to see you,” the steward responded. “Now.”

“Oh.” Will rubbed a hand over his face. “Does he want me to bring some wine with me? Does he already have some?” he asked, standing and heading over to the counter for another bottle.

“No,” the steward said coldly.

“Loss his… I mean, his loss,” Will said with a sloppy grin. He weaved slightly on his feet. “Lead on!”

He didn’t risk glancing at Jansa as he left the kitchen. He followed behind the steward, and the guards flanked him on either side. His heart felt like it was in his throat, and he wanted to be sick. This could be it. His charade might be over, and he could be dead in the next few minutes. At least he could try to bluff his way to the very end.

Maybe if they killed him, it would deflect suspicion away from the others. It was small comfort, but he found a tiny measure of hope in the thought. He didn’t want to die, but if he had to do so, theirs was the cause worth dying for.

They made it into the throne room where John sat on the throne, the imposter in all his obnoxious, pompous pride. Will forced himself to give his most charming smile while still staggering slightly.

“My king,” he said, “I was just regaling some others with hilarious tales. Would you like to hear one?” He swept into a courtly bow that was slightly unsteady.

“There are times when I’m quite convinced all you think about are the appetites of the flesh,” John said, his voice cold.

Will winked. “In my experience those are the most entertaining pursuits, my liege.”

“There are serious matters at hand,” John growled, and Will endeavored to stand a little straighter.

“What troubles you?” he asked, attempting to show genuine concern.

“We have a traitor here in the castle,” John said coldly.

“Surely not!” Will burst out, acting appropriately appalled, and hopefully not overplaying his hand.

“Yes, someone quite close has been conspiring against me.”

Will swallowed hard, struggling for the right words to say. It was as if he could already feel a noose tightening. He took a deep breath even as he realized he might instead feel the cold steel of a sword as it severed his head from his neck.

“I have a hard time believing that someone would be so foolhardy,” he said, licking his lips and shaking his head slightly. He wished at the moment that he
was
good and drunk. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel this crushing fear that threatened to choke him.

“And yet someone has been,” John replied. “I’m certain of it. A convoy was attacked today and, there is only one in the castle who could have known of it in time to warn the Hood.”

“Who is it you suspect, my king?” Will asked.

John raised his hand sharply and Will fought not to cringe backward as he expected one of the guards to descend on him. Instead he heard the door open and he turned in time to see four guards escorting Marian into the room.

Instead of diminishing Will’s fear, the sight only galvanized it.

“What is milady doing here?” he managed to ask.

“Haven’t you guessed?” John purred. “She is the traitor.”

Will turned and forced a smile onto his face.

“Ah ha
ha
, an excellent jest indeed, my king,” he said, struggling to keep his tone light. “You almost had me fooled.”

“It is no laughing matter. There is a traitor amongst us and I am convinced it is her.”

“Even if there is a traitor, how could it possibly be her?” Will said, hiccupping. “When has any woman that pretty had half a brain in her head?”

Will was deeply relieved to see that Marian wasn’t wearing the cloak, or anything else that would resemble that of the Hood’s costume. She was wearing a rather plain dress, likely one she usually used for riding. He did detect a few drops of blood showing through on the one shoulder, though. She must have been struck in the battle.

He just prayed John hadn’t noticed.

“She was caught riding back to the stables just minutes ago.” John leaned forward and stared accusingly. “It was she who passed information about the convoy to the outlaw. Of that I have no doubt.”

Will shook his head in mock disbelief.

“I don’t even know how a woman so sheltered as she would even go about finding an outlaw,” he said.

“I don’t think you give women enough credit for deviousness,” John replied. “Especially
this
woman…”

“She’s actually quite the simple girl, Highness,” Will pressed, and he raised an eyebrow. “If you recall, she even allowed me… well, past her gates.” At that he burped.

Marian’s face flamed red.

“You bastard,” she growled.

Will waved his hand, dismissing her outburst. “Even if it is true, your Highness, she’s your niece. So what can be done? You’d need proof before you could make the accusation in public, especially since she is
your
responsibility.” He was walking a fine line, he knew—one that might get him hanged right along with Marian. Still, he had committed himself.

Might as well see it through to the end
, he thought, and he grimaced inwardly at the choice of words.

“Besides,” he added, “if she is a traitor, we might yet find a use for her.” At that he fell silent. All he knew was that if John made a move to harm Marian then he’d have to act—even if it got him killed.

John smiled and Will’s stomach twisted harder at the sight. It was an evil smile.

“I can think of a
few
uses she might still serve,” the usurper said, and he turned to face his prisoner. “For now, Marian, you shall be banished to the tower. You are not to leave it unless I send for you.”

“You can’t do this,” Marian hissed.

John laughed, long and low, and it made Will’s skin crawl.

“My dear niece. It is already done.”

* * *

Friar Tuck was unused to riding horses. Driving carts or traveling afoot was far more comfortable for him.

After a short period of galloping, which had seen him nearly thrown from the animal’s back half a dozen times, he pulled the beast to a walk, which then seemed ponderous and slow.

“I could walk faster than you,” he muttered.

The horse flicked back an ear as if half paying attention, but it didn’t move any faster.

The truth was, he
would
have preferred to get down and walk, but he was still shaking from the encounter, and didn’t trust his legs to support him. He wasn’t even sure where in the forest they were, exactly. He should have paid closer attention—though he’d been too busy hanging on for dear life.

Tuck looked around, hoping to see something that looked familiar. There was nothing. Not a tree, not a bush. The only thing even remotely familiar was the music.

I’m going to die, lost and alone in the cursed forest
, he realized. He could feel bile rising in the back of his throat, and his heart began to pound as hard as it had done during the midst of the fighting. He was lost. He was done for.

Music?

Tuck blinked, suddenly aware of the sound that was drifting through the trees. It was faint, but he recognized the instrument that made it. He offered up a prayer of thanksgiving as he urged his horse in the direction of the music.

A couple of minutes later he came within sight of a rock upon which sat the bard, Alan-a-Dale, his long fingers strumming the harp. The bard nodded at him, and then ceased his playing.

“I thought you might need some assistance finding your way,” he said, voice and face both much more serious than they normally were. There was a streak of blood on his cheek, and the rest of his skin was pale around it.

“How?”

“I told you I could run fast and far, and that I knew the forest.”

“I’m grateful to see you in one piece,” Tuck said, abandoning the playful banter he usually shared with his old friend. “And your assistance is much appreciated.”

“We should all be grateful to be in one piece,” Alan said as he stood and returned his harp to its normal resting place on his shoulder. He stepped closer, and as he did, Tuck looked around.

“Do you know the way to the monastery from here?”

“I do, but that’s not where we are going,” the bard responded. “The cardinal thought it prudent to meet elsewhere, in light of everything that’s happened.”

Tuck felt a chill pass through him. Since the death of Bishop Montoya, he had once again found the monastery a place of peace and sanctuary. Then Stephen had gone missing. He wondered if the cardinal’s reticence had something to do with the missing monk. The world was upside down and he, for one, was growing tired of it.

“How have you made it there and back so swiftly?” Tuck asked. He knew Alan didn’t enjoy riding horses either, and he didn’t have one near him now.

“I spoke with Cardinal Francis before we left,” Alan said.

A terrible suspicion entered Tuck’s mind then. What if Alan had betrayed them? What if he was leading the friar into a trap now? He took a deep breath, trying to force the thoughts from his mind. Alan could be trusted. He was one of
them
, and he’d proven his loyalty time and again.

Yet the doubt would not be denied.

“Why did Francis speak with you, and not with me?” Tuck asked. It made no sense. He was the cardinal’s closest confidant. Perhaps Francis didn’t trust him anymore. Tuck bristled at the thought.
After all we’ve been through, he had no right to exclude me.

Instead of answering his question Alan frowned.

“Are you sure you are well?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Tuck demanded.

“You’re acting… unlike yourself.”

“Well, if I wasn’t being kept out of your, your… secret deliberations, then I wouldn’t be acting strange,” he growled.

“I assure you, my friend, there were no secret deliberations. The cardinal simply asked me to make certain everyone made it to the new rendezvous point, since both he and I knew the location.”

No.
Alan was lying. Tuck was sure of it.

He took a deep breath, trying to ease the squeezing sensation in his chest. His head was buzzing and he was tired—more tired than he could ever remember being. Still, he saw nothing for it but to play along with the minstrel’s schemes, at least for the time being.

“So, lead the way,” he growled.

* * *

Anger had been Robin’s near constant companion for so long now he had lost track of the days. For the moment, though, anger had been replaced by fear. He slipped silently as a ghost through the forest, hoping and praying that the others had made it out safe.

Back at the scene of the ambush, it had been his intention to leave none of their enemies alive. One man had escaped, though. He was wounded and wouldn’t last out the night, but still Robin had followed after him as soon as he could. He’d worried what the man might say before he died.

He had found the man’s body on the road just outside the forest. He was dead, but not from the wound that Robin had inflicted. The corpse was half-eaten, and just seeing the remains left a bad taste in his mouth. He wondered if one of the Sheriff’s pets had been responsible. He just hoped the man had died before being able to tell anyone what he had seen.

He was heading toward the monastery when he encountered the cardinal heading away from it. The man was walking briskly, clearly with a purpose and a destination in mind.

“What’s happening?” Robin asked sharply.

Cardinal Francis looked up at him in genuine surprise. “Apparently more than I expected, if you’re not with Alan. He was supposed to lead everyone to a new meeting place,” he said.