half a dozen rats, star-lings, a robin, and even a baby field mouse. It was a gruesome collection of corpses, eerily like the sheriffs’ gibbets strung with the bodies of hanged thieves that could be seen in most towns in England, only much smaller, and in a weird way more poignant. But it was not the collection of dead animals that shocked me most. On the front gate, in blood, had been scrawled a message. It was in Arabic, and although I could not read that language with any proficiency, I could make out these words. It said: True Love Never Dies.
Nur!
She must have followed me south from Sherwood and observed me with Goody. And now she was telling me that she knew that I had found love again. I shuddered on that cold January morning at the sight of her crude daubings in — whose? — blood. And I remembered the hideous figures scratched in the wood of the gate, which I had seen on my return from Westbury only a few weeks before. Could Nur truly be a witch? Did she have powers? Was she the Hag of Hallamshire? And was she now using her magic against Goody and me?
I took a grip of myself. And then gave orders for the servants to take the gibbet away and burn it before Goody or Marie-Anne could see it.
For days afterwards, as I went about my business in London — visiting Bernard in the taverns at Westminster, at horse and lance training with Thomas on the broad high heath near the little village of Hampstead — I kept seeing a small black figure out of the corner of my eye. But, always, when I turned to look properly, it was gone. Whatever else Nur had learnt in her long travels from the Holy Land to England — witchcraft, sorcery, the casting of foul curses — she had also mastered the art of concealment in rough country almost as well as my friend Hanno.
But I did not actively seek out Nur, track her down or lay an ambush, for I still suffered from feelings of shame about the way that I had treated her. I did wish to speak to her, if only to urge her not to threaten either Goody or myself with her devilish tricks. It had been clear that the puppy and the kitten had been meant to represent Goody and myself, and the other dead animals our servants and friends. It felt like a curse on my soul, a black witch’s slow-burning malediction — and I wanted her to lift it. And in some way I wanted to make amends for her suffering; but also I had to make her accept that I’d never love her again.
If I am honest, I must admit that I did not relish another encounter with her. Any threats to her, I knew in my heart, would be empty. I could not lift my sword to her after what she had endured at the hands of Malbete and his men. More than anything else, I just wished her gone.
There are those who say that God and the Devil are engaged in a constant struggle for the souls of men; and most agree that God is mightier than the Evil One. And so it came to pass that God triumphed and the evil time at Wakefield Inn came to an end.
It ended, as in my experience so many bad things have, with the arrival of Robin — and he brought with him wonderful news.
My master clattered through the inn’s gate at the head of forty cavalrymen, straight in the saddle, proud and accoutred for war. And after embracing Marie-Anne and greeting Tuck, Goody, Hanno and me, he made a point, I noticed, of sweeping up little toddling Hugh in his arms and tickling the boy until he screamed with joy. Then he called everybody into the hall and, warming his hands in front of the hearth fire, he said casually: ‘Richard is free.’
His words were greeted with a stunned silence. We had all grown so used to our King being a prisoner in Germany — he had been there for more than a year by then — that his words took us all by surprise. So Robin repeated himself:
‘King Richard, our noble sovereign, is free. He has been released by the Emperor and, even as I speak, he is travelling with his mother towards England.’
‘But what about Prince John’s counter-offer — the eighty thousand marks to keep him till Michaelmas?’ I said, a little bewildered.
‘Oh, I’m sure the Emperor was tempted. But Richard has made a good number of friends among the German princes, and they would not have stood for that sort of underhand behaviour from their overlord. Holding a nobleman for ransom is quite acceptable, but to accept the ransom money and then renege on the deal would have provoked outrage. Emperor Henry would have faced rebellions left, right and centre from his vassals — he might even have been overthrown and lost his title. He’s already been excommunicated by the Pope, and that makes everyone, even the most ungodly German baron, uneasy. Besides, he would have made a bitter enemy of Queen Eleanor — and she is not a woman whose wrath can be taken lightly. So he did the sensible thing: he took hostages for the rest of the money that the Queen had promised him and released Richard into her care a couple of weeks ago. He has a few matters to attend to in Europe, but our King should reach England in ten days or so, weather permitting — and then we’ll see the royal cat set among the disloyal pigeons.’
Robin grinned at me, a merry devil-may-care sparkle in his silver eyes. ‘I’ve had messages from Richard’s people and we have orders to meet him at Sandwich — and then we march north, gathering fighting men on the way — we go to retake Nottingham. It appears, Alan, that we may soon be able to settle our accounts with Ralph Murdac.’
I felt dizzy with joy. All that I had been striving for over the past year, all that I had endured — the long journey to Germany, the deaths of Perkin and Adam, the strain of deception while I was playing the loyal man in Prince John’s camp, the wrestling match with Milo and the terrible night as I waited to be hanged like a felon — now it all seemed worthwhile. Good King Richard was coming home, and all would be set to rights. I found myself grinning like an idiot at everyone in our company and, by accident, my gaze fell on Goody.
She looked directly back at me, something she had not done in weeks. And quickly, privately, she smiled at me. In a heartbeat, our quarrel was over: in that moment it seemed absurd, ridiculous — a foolish trifle, an evil enchantment that had been conjured up solely to divide two young lovers, a thing of no substance at all, mere thistledown on the wind in the wild joy of King Richard’s return.
We moved towards each other, almost as if drawn by some invisible force, and then she was in my arms, held tight, squeezed, her white face pressed into my neck, and I could feel the burn of her tears.
Chapter Nineteen
King Richard stepped off the gangplank on to the wharf at the port of Sandwich on a bright, sunny March morning, and the cheers that rang out from the hundreds of men-at-arms gathered to meet him were loud enough to deafen the Heavens. He was thinner than when I’d last seen him, very pale, and looked a little older too — but he was still that strong, confident man who had led us to victory in Sicily, Cyprus and Outremer. His chief men — the earls and bishops and great barons — all those few who had remained loyal to him during the dark times — were gathered in the forefront of the crowd at the quayside, with their own loyal men behind them. And hundreds of small boats filled the brown water of the harbour with spectators, local Sandwich men and women, all wanting to catch a glimpse of the King’s triumphant arrival.
As our sovereign stepped off the narrow wooden walkway that ran down from the high deck of the ship, he staggered a little and then righted himself and smiled, and it felt as if the world was warmed. We cheered him, three times three, until our voices were hoarse. And Richard smiled and nodded at individuals in the crowd, lifting a thin hand to acknowledge a face here and there. He greeted each of the assembled magnates by name, walking slowly along the front of the shouting, jostling crowd, and giving each of them a word or two of thanks. Our King stopped by Robin, clasped him by the hand and pulled him forward. He muttered something in Robin’s ear and they both laughed, and then his eye lighted on me, standing as I was, directly behind my lord.
‘Blondel, well met,’ said the King. ‘How goes it with England’s most talented trouvere?’
‘I don’t know about that fellow, sire,’ I said, suddenly shy of conversing with the King, ‘but I can tell you that I am quite fit and well and ready to serve you.’
Richard laughed. ‘Good man. But we shall need your sharp sword more than your sharp wit in the next few weeks, Alan. And it may be some time, I fear, before we hear your elegant verses again,’ he added, looking grave.
‘I am yours to command, sire,’ I said, bowing.
The King nodded. ‘And I have not forgotten the debt I owe you for Ochsenfurt,’ he said.
I could find no reply but merely smiled mutely at him, and then he was off, past me and greeting the Earl
