king, and your name is involved, let us pray that his affection for the Hayes will prompt him to disregard it.”
Gianni had worked all night at the knots that had bound his feet and hands. Under cover of darkness and the blanket of mouldy leaves that had been thrown over him he had managed to untie them, then refasten them with a loose wrap that would easily slip undone. He knew that it would be useless for him to try to escape into the forest. He did not even know in which direction to run if he had the chance. But he had learned what they intended to do with him, and he would be ready if an opportunity for escape presented itself.
Carefully he rolled onto his side and looked through the gloom towards the dying embers of the fire. Only one man sat awake, the small skinny one who had brought him some food earlier and was now keeping watch over the encampment. He had said his name was Talli and even though he had tried to be rough with his captive, he had seemed to have some sympathy for him. Gianni had given him the wide-eyed scared look he had used so often when he had been a helpless urchin begging for food, and Talli had softened slightly, bringing him a tiny strip of venison to chew on and a wooden bowl of water to drink. It had been as Gianni was gnawing thankfully on the meat that Talli had hunkered down beside him and told him what was to be his fate.
“Hungry, weren’t you, boy?” the brigand had said as he watched Gianni devour the food. “Well, if all goes right, you should be back in the castle by this time tomorrow and able to get yourself some better fare.”
Gianni had given him a tremulous smile and put a hopeful look on his face. The outlaw had nodded. “Yes, that’s right. If your master does what he’s told, then that’s what’ll happen.”
Talli had leaned closer to Gianni, his eyes gleaming out from the dirt that stained his flesh. “Green Jack’s a clever one, he is. See, him and Fulcher don’t like each other. Fell out over Fulcher not wanting to join Jack’s band when we first come to Sherwood. Well, now Fulcher’s in the sheriff’s gaol, and the rest of us come here to Jack, so there’s no grudge anymore, see. And if Jack can get Fulcher free, then he can come here as well. Be Jack’s man, like. And Fulcher’s a good man to have. He has a right true aim with a bow and there’s not a fear of man or beast in him. Ah, I’ll be glad to see him again.”
Talli had fallen silent then and Gianni had ducked his head and given him another imploring look. In response the outlaw had patted his shoulder and said kindly, “Don’t worry. Your master will come for you, Jack’s sure of that. Edward said the Templar values you highly. He’s bound to come. All he has to do is bring Fulcher to Sherwood and then Jack’ll change you for him. That’s what Jack wrote on the parchment.”
A look of wonder came over Talli’s face. “Imagine that, being able to scribe words.” The outlaw had leaned close to Gianni. “No one knows where Jack come from, but if he can do that he must have been more than just a serf, mustn’t he? Perhaps he was the son of a merchant or even a cleric.” The little brigand shook his head. “His crimes must have been serious ones for him to have ended up here.”
Talli had said no more, just thrown the leaves over Gianni, and then taken up his vigil by the fire. Gianni had curled up, pretending sleep as he worked at the knots. Whatever happened tomorrow, he would ensure he was as prepared as possible for any chance that came to escape from the clutches of Diabolo Jack.
In Baldwin’s chamber Osbert paced about excitedly as he told his friend about Gianni being taken hostage by outlaws and how the Templar was going to try to get him back.
“The sheriff has taken a force of men-at-arms to assist Sir Bascot, and Sir William, Alain and Renault have gone as well. Ah, I wish I were old enough to have joined them.” Osbert almost danced with glee as he pictured the battle that he was sure would take place on the banks of the Trent.
“It will be a great coup if they can get Sir Bascot’s servant back and capture some of the outlaws as well,” Baldwin agreed, his pale face shining as he, too, envisaged a clash between the two forces. “I hope Alain has a chance to show his mettle,” he added. “It would make Alys so happy to think that her brother has proven his worth. She has had much lately to plague her…”
He broke off, realising that he had almost given away the secret about Alain and Renault’s absence on the night of Hubert’s death but, to his surprise, Osbert did not question the unspoken words. Instead he came and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It is alright, Baldwin. All of us pages and squires know about the suspicion that has fallen on Alain and Renault. We made Hugo tell us when Rufus saw them going into Lady Nicolaa’s chamber and Hugo was waiting outside.”
“They didn’t do it, you know, Osbert,” Baldwin asserted. “They swore to me on a holy relic that they were innocent. No one would endanger their immortal souls with such a lie.”
Osbert gave his friend a comforting grin. “Of course not, Baldwin. I am sure they told you the truth.”
Footsteps sounded outside the door and a servant entered, bringing a round wicker basket full of charcoal to feed the brazier that was kept constantly burning in Baldwin’s chamber. As the man deposited the receptacle on the floor, Osbert gave de Humez’s son a covert glance. He hoped his friend was right and that Alain and Renault were innocent, even if it was only so that Baldwin’s faith in human nature should not be destroyed. But privately the young page doubted that the two squires were free from guilt. Unlike Baldwin, he knew that if there was enough at stake, men would swear on the most holy of relics, be they saints’ bones or the blood of Christ, and still not tell the truth.
Twenty-two
Fulcher could barely keep upright on the back of the pony as they approached the place designated for the exchange for Gianni. He was a strong man, but the beating given him by Roget’s men, combined with the distance they had travelled through the needle-sharp pricks of rain, had rendered his body almost useless. Only the point of Bascot’s sword nudging the space between his shoulder blades had kept him from sliding to the ground.
Finally, a low word of warning from Tostig gave Bascot the signal to bring his mount to a halt. The forester moved his horse close to the Templar and pointed through the mist of rain. There, a few score yards distant, was the river and, at the water’s edge, a large oak tree, its branches bare of leaves.
“That is the place, Sir Bascot,” the forester said. “I should leave you here. The instruction was for you to be alone when you brought the brigand.” Tostig gave a furtive glance over his shoulder. Behind them the trees were thin, with a stand of coppiced hazel crouching like a hunkered dwarf at their base. Nearby, a few desiccated red berries still clung to the branches of a rowan tree, providing the only splash of colour on an otherwise desolate landscape. Downstream, beyond the oak, a willow tree curved gracefully on the eastern bank of the Trent as it wriggled slightly in its course to the Humber estuary. No horses or riders could be seen. Across the river the thick mass of forest was silent.
“I am sure the sheriff is not far behind and will put men both above and below the spot where the oak grows,” the forester said. “Give him a little time to get them into position, then move up. I will go and join them. May God grant you good fortune.”
With these abrupt words the forester turned his horse and within a moment was gone, the rain-darkened flank of his horse disappearing like a wraith into the curtain of mist.
Fulcher, who had finally tumbled from the pony when they halted, knelt motionless on the ground, head hung on his chest and breath coming in great shuddering gulps. He got reluctantly to his feet when Bascot prodded him with his sword. The Templar felt no pity for the man; his whole being was intent on freeing Gianni, on discovering if the boy was safe and well. His mind dare not dwell on the possibility that the lad could be injured or dead and might perhaps be lying deep in Sherwood for the wolves to find. He thought only of the boy as he had last seen him, alive and happy, and concentrated on keeping that image in front of him.
As they neared the tree, Fulcher stumbled forward on his feet, leaving the pony behind. Bascot scanned the forest on the other side of the river as best he could, cursing the loss of half his vision. The oak was dripping moisture onto the sodden mass of fallen leaves at its base; the very air was drenched with wetness. The river itself was in full spate, water rushing in tiny wavelets against the drooping grasses and reeds at its edge as the flow in midstream eddied into small currents that broke and ran before they were fully formed. Bascot knew that the Trent was a river that had a tidal bore which had the capability of becoming frightening at full intensity. When it rose to its peak it was called the Aegir, after a Norse sea giant, and he had been told of the damage it could do. Although the bore usually only swelled to full power in the spring, it had been known to happen after a heavy rainfall, and he prayed that it would not let loose such a monster today, not if he was to get Gianni across from the other side.
