that we were engaged in God’s work, serving Him in everything we did. I had a place in the world, a purpose. Now, I don’t know. Nothing is clear any more. I had friends there, good friends, but I know almost nobody at court now. And in Sussex… well, I left my brother’s hearth a long time ago. It’s a good twenty years since I was there. England is a foreign land to me now.’
I looked at Nicholas. The wine seemed to have made him a little maudlin.
‘Do you remember Sir Richard at Lea?’ he asked, his muddy green eyes clouding with sorrow.
I nodded, and took a frugal sip of my drink.
‘I miss him. He might have been misguided enough to join the Templars, but he was a true Christian, a true friend. It was not a death worthy of a noble Christian knight, to be cut down like that, guarding some merchant’s caravan. I’d like to get my hands on the men who killed him, would that I knew who they were. Bandits, just… fucking scum.’
I was surprised by his use of such earthy profanity. I could not imagine the Sir Nicholas I had known in Outremer, the holy warrior, the man dedicated to God, using such a term. And I did remember Sir Richard at Lea. He had been a good friend to me, too.
I also remembered Sir Richard’s death, for I had been there, only yards away, when he died. I remembered the casually efficient way that Little John had cut the Templar knight’s throat at Robin’s command after Sir Richard had been captured. It was a source of pain to remember it. Shame, too. I had railed madly at Robin for ordering the death of such a good man. In fact, I had fallen out with my master badly over it and had even considered leaving his service as a result. The ‘fucking scum’ Nicholas was talking about were Robin’s men; we had robbed the caravan purely so that Robin could make an unsubtle point to the wealthy frankincense merchants of Gaza, to convince them that they should deal exclusively with him.
Apparently, Sir Nicholas had no idea as to the identity of Richard at Lea’s killers, and I was thankful for that. I prayed that he would never discover the truth.
‘So, what will you do now?’ I asked Sir Nicholas. He fixed me with his clouded green eyes, and said: ‘Tomorrow I travel to Sussex, to Mary and the children. But I shall not remain there long.’ He paused and looked down at the scarred tabletop. ‘I have taken service with Prince John,’ he mumbled.
‘What?’ I said, incredulous. ‘What did you just say?’
He looked up and his gaze firmed. ‘I have sworn allegiance to Prince John, the man who will undoubtedly be the next King of England!’ He said it defiantly. ‘I am no longer a Hospitaller, a warrior for Christ; I have a duty to defend my family, and Prince John is the coming man. Richard may be king now, but he is king only in name. John will be on the throne before long. I have taken a side, the right side, the side that I believe will be victorious in the end. And by doing so, by supporting John, I believe I have guaranteed the safety of my brother’s family.’
I hid my astonishment by taking a sip of the green German wine. This was treasonous talk. Sir Nicholas had always appear ed to me to be a man of simple faith, a man who healed the sick and fought valiantly, selflessly, against the enemies of Christendom. I had never seen this pragmatic, political side of him. This English Sir Nicholas, in his blue-and-gold surcoat, talking of ‘fucking scum’ and admitting to high treason was a different creature entirely.
‘It is on this subject that I wanted to talk to you tonight,’ Sir Nicholas continued. ‘Prince John will be generous to any fighting man who wishes to join his cause. And I was minded of this the moment I spotted you in the stables. You are an honest man, Alan. And you are an accomplished fighter: I saw you charge the Saracen right wing at the battle of Arsuf, and I was impressed. That was a bloody day! A good day! You should join with John now — it will make your fortune in the years to come.’
‘But John is such a…’ I began.
‘Prince John is the man who will be king,’ interrupted Sir Nicholas, staring hard into my eyes as if willing me to understand his actions, perhaps even to forgive them, and to make everything in his life right by following in his footsteps. ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘Just consider your position for a moment. I have heard it said that you betrayed your master at the inquisition in Temple Church. That it was your testimony that clinched his guilt. Is this true?’
I blushed with shame. ‘It is true,’ I muttered. This time it was I who could not meet his eyes.
‘I do not blame you,’ he said. ‘I heard that you swore a mighty oath in the church before God and the Virgin to tell the truth and the whole truth. How could you do otherwise? No, I do not blame you — you have behaved as a good Christian must. And so, as I say, I do not blame you — but the outlawed Earl of Locksley surely will.
‘And, from what I know of the Earl’s reputation,’ he went on, ‘I am certain that he will try to take his vengeance upon you. He is not a man to allow one of his servants to betray him without striking back. He will seek to make a bloody example of you. Am I not right?’
‘You have described him perfectly,’ I said.
‘And so, what will you do now? Go back to Westbury and oversee your tenants and collect your rents and wait for his vengeance to fall upon you? Or will you find new and more powerful friends? As I see it, you have no choice. You must go to Prince John at Nottingham and swear allegiance to him as soon as possible.’
I said nothing. His logic was flawless. Sir Nicholas waved to the tavern-keeper to bring another flagon of green wine. I realized then that the last one was empty, and he had drunk most of it.
‘Come, Alan — Prince John is no monster. He is not such an evil man, merely a trifle high-handed, and for that you must blame his ancestry and his exalted birth. He is the son of a king, and will be a king himself. Believe me, he knows how to reward loyal service. You have never wronged him personally, have you?’
I shook my head. I had not. I had been humiliated by him once, but I had never struck back, solely because I had never had the opportunity. I doubted that he would even remember my name.
‘Go to him, kneel before him,’ urged Sir Nicholas. ‘Humble yourself before the next King of England and you will be safe from the Earl’s wrath. More than that, you will prosper and gain wealth and honour in this life.’
I could say nothing against his arguments.
‘I will send word ahead that you are coming with my blessing. Now, tell me you will accept service with Prince John and I will smooth the path for you. You will receive a royal welcome. Come, man — say you will serve him. Tell me that you will!’
I looked up into his muddy eyes, now blazing with a verdant fervour that I had never seen in him before.
‘I will,’ I said.
As we left the tavern, I realized that I had taken too much wine, but I had not had nearly as much as Sir Nicholas. It was long past curfew and the streets were silent and deserted. After my reluctant acquiescence to his suggestion that I join Prince John, Nicholas had insisted that we drink a good deal more, and the talk had passed on to more congenial subjects. It was well past midnight when we staggered from the tavern and into the street outside, and while the sleepy tavern-keeper locked and barred the door behind us, complaining about customers who kept him from his warm bed, Nicholas muttered something about relieving himself and wandered around the corner, where he began to piss like a war horse.
I stared up at the starry sky and the bright full moon that hung like a fresh cheese above the rooftops. I hummed a little music to myself while I waited for Sir Nicholas to finish his business; my head was light but I was enjoying the feel of the cool air on my face. A beautiful night…
And I became aware that I was not alone. I could see perhaps a dozen figures, moving purposefully out of the gloom from the far side of the street, twenty yards away, grey shapes against the blackness, and the cold wink of steel blades in the moonlight.
As fortune would have it, though I had no more protection for my body than a tunic and short cloak, I was wearing my sword. In one smooth movement I drew my weapon and prepared to sell my life as dearly as possible. At these odds, I just had time to think, I am a dead man.
A snake of ice slithered in my belly and I realized that I was afraid. The dark mob were now advancing swiftly. They came at me without a sound, spreading out into a semi-circle to envelop me, surround me and cut me down, but I was already moving to the left, keeping my back to the wall of the tavern and forcing the oncoming men to crowd each other and change the shape of their attack. I counted eleven of them and then gave up, but I could see that they were far too many to fight one man with any efficiency — but who needed efficiency? Even if I managed to down three or four of them, they had no lack of men to take their places.
In the middle of the crowd, clearly visible in the light from the full moon, I could make out the looming form of Tom, the man I had fought on my last visit to this God-cursed drinking den. He had evidently neither forgotten nor forgiven our bout. No words were spoken, and none needed to be said. It was clear Tom wanted revenge for the
