'How long has it been?' said Finn.
'I don't know,' said Bobby. 'A week? More? You think maybe Goldblum got him?'
'I don't know,' said Finn. 'I've had men making inquiries. No one seems to have seen either him or Hooker. Last word I had on Hooker was that he was staying with Isaac of York, but there's been no sign of him, either. He's vacated his rooms in the village of Ashby and he's not in York. I've sent men to Rotherwood, but Lucas isn't there. Nor is Cedric there, or Athelstane, or Rowena. It's like they've all just disappeared.'
'They would have had to travel through Sherwood,' Bobby said. 'You don't think maybe-'
'No chance,' said Finn. 'If our guys had anything to do with it, I'd know about it.'
Bobby smiled. 'You really like them, don't you?'
'Like them? Yes, I suppose I do, at that. They're a good bunch. They work hard and they play hard. In a way, they sort of remind me of Eric's men.'
'Eric?'
Finn chuckled. 'Eric the Red. Nastiest son of a bitch it was ever my pleasure to serve under. You think this is a heavy gig? I'll tell you what a rough gig is. Try heading out to open sea in a longboat. Seventy-five feet from bow to stern, about ten feet in the beam, rigged with a Nordic square sail. God, those men were really something. Vikings. Greatest sailors ever lived, except maybe the Polynesians. I'll tell you something, we've got us a rough and ready bunch here, but they wouldn't last five minutes in a set-to with the Vikings.'
'You know something, Finn? I think you were born too late.'
'No way. I was born right smack on time. I wouldn't trade my life for anything. You and I, we're the ultimate soldiers. We can fight with anyone, anytime, anywhere. We've got all of human history to play with. I'll tell you one soldier who would've given his eyeteeth for living in our time and serving in the Temporal Corps. Fella by the name of Patton. Now there's a guy who was born too late, but not late enough.'
'You're a romantic, Finn,' said Bobby, softly.
'I guess I am, kid.'
'I'm not.' Bobby sighed. 'I'm a realist. I can appreciate the way you feel, but what we're doing is dangerous, damned dangerous. Man never should have traveled back through time, Finn. It's wrong. It's crazy. Worse than that, it's stupid.
They're afraid to travel to the future because no one knows just what the future is. Is there a future? I mean, how many possibilities are there? Who knows what kind of bends and twists the timestream takes up ahead? Maybe someday some lunatic will actually try it, but they're scared of that right now and so long as they remain scared, I think there's still a chance that they'll come to their senses and stop the time wars. I don't know what it would take. Maybe something like this, maybe something worse, I just don't know, but I wish to hell they'd stop.'
He stared at the embers silently as the sun came up.
'I want to go home,' he said.
10
Andre was exhausted. She was grateful to drop Cedric off at Nottingham Castle. Blindfolding him had not been enough, it had finally been necessary to gag him, as well. She had had more than she could stand of his defiant epithets, Athelstane's ceaseless grumbling and Rowena's whining. She had finally ordered them all gagged, although she had to call one of the men over with a hand signal and whisper the command, since she could not imitate De Bracy's voice. The blindfolds served a dual purpose, protecting her masquerade as well as preventing the prisoners from seeing that they were being taken to Nottingham, rather than Torquilstone. Had the prisoners been able to see, they might have realized that she was not De Bracy; something might have given it away.
Taking them had been simple enough. The attack had been a complete surprise and every member of their party save for the three of them had been killed. It was a shame about the palmer who had been traveling with them. A simple pilgrim who had only desired safe passage through the wood, he was an innocent bystander. He had not even been armed. Still, she had her orders. She consoled herself that she had not hit him all that hard; perhaps there was a chance that the blow had not been fatal. It was a small consolation, but it was something.
Her stay at Nottingham had been extremely brief. She had remained there only long enough to see the prisoners turned over to the sheriff's men at arms and to pick up Marcel and change back into her own clothing and armor. Now, with Marcel riding at her side, she was once again the red knight, on her way to Torquilstone. De Bracy would welcome Andre de la Croix, never suspecting that he would be admitting his own murderer to his castle.
She was growing tired of playing ceaseless games of charade. Her breasts were hurting from the cloth that they were tightly swaddled in and she was badly in need of sleep. How long would it go on? How long could it go on? With all the constant intrigue, the pressure was increasing. Her greatest fear was not that she would die, but that she would somehow make a mistake and be caught, that her true sex would be discovered. All things considered, it was remarkable that she had been able to get away with it for so long.
What would they do, she wondered, if they were to find out? Kill her? It was certainly possible. Imprison her? More than likely. On the other hand, it was much more than a case of a peasant passing for a knight. She was a woman passing for a knight and she did not think that the men whom she had deceived would settle for any of the more traditional punishments. No, without doubt, for her they would devise something a bit more imaginative. Men such as Maurice De Bracy and Brian de Bois-Guilbert would never be able to accept that a woman had been able to hold her own with them, to prevail where they could not. There was no question of her ever being allowed to go free so that others might find out. Yes, they might very well kill her in some extremely unpleasant manner, but men had other ways of getting revenge. She thought that death would be preferable.
Most of all, she was concerned about Marcel. Without her, what would become of him? To minimize the risk of discovery, she and Marcel had never stayed very long in any one place, had never accepted service for an extended period of time. It was past time for them to move on, her every instinct told her so. However, there would be no moving on so long as the black knight knew her secret and could expose her at will. The smart thing to do would be to kill him. Only… how?
He claimed to be Coeur de Lion, but she no longer believed him. She did not know exactly why she did not believe him, but she was certain that he wasn't Richard any more than she was. Obviously, he was the very image of the departed king, since Sir Guy accepted him as such and the sheriff had known Richard well, and had at one time been among his men at arms. She had never seen Richard Plantagenet, so she had no way of knowing in what ways he had 'changed' since returning from the Third Crusade. Whoever this was, he had thus far kept her secret. Certainly, Sir Guy did not suspect she was a woman. He treated her as an equal and they had spent many nights together, drinking and talking. She wasn't sure who repelled her more, Sir Guy or 'Richard.'
'He's returned a different man,' the sheriff had said to her one night, while they sat before the fireplace drinking ale.
'Different in what ways?' she had said.
'In some ways, he seems more patient,' said the sheriff. 'And yet, the demons seem to drive him more than ever. I am the older man, and yet at times he seems to speak to me as if I were a child. Indeed, he acts like an older man now.' He nodded slowly. 'War can age a man like that. War can make men old before their time, or it can turn them into mewling infants. He does not speak of it, you know.'
'The Crusade?'
Guy nodded. 'I have asked him once or twice what it was like. Each time, he turned the talk to something else. He will not speak of Saladin, of Philip, or of his captivity. He speaks only of winning back his throne and of John's treachery.'
'Why does he choose to array himself in black, I wonder?' Andre said.
The sheriff chuckled. 'Perhaps to match his thoughts.'
'He thinks black thoughts and is driven by demons,' Andre said. 'You make the king sound like a warlock.'
Guy laughed. 'A warlock he is, by God, in battle! He fights with the strength of ten!'
'Perhaps he has gained secret knowledge in his travels.'
