Scarlet

accounts, he was never a fella to suffer long to begin with.

So now, my execution day must be drawing nigh.

But, what is this?

There is a muffled scrabbling in the corridor beyond my cell… hushed voices… and then the familiar slow, shuffling footfall.

'Good day,Will Scarlet,' says Odo as he appears at the door. 'God with you.' His voice is that much strained as if addressing a stroppy stranger.

'This day is almost done, my friend,' I say to put him at ease. Well, he is the closest thing to a friend I have in this forsaken place. 'I'll say good evening and God bless.'

He makes no move to open the door, but stands in the narrow stone corridor. 'Are you coming in, then?' I ask.

'No, it will be dark soon, and I could not get any candles.'

'I see.'

'The abbot does not know I am here. He has forbidden me to listen to you.'

'He has had enough of my ravings and ramblings, I suppose.'

'Oh, no,' Odo is quick to assure me, 'it is that he has gone and does not want me talking to you while he is away.'

'Gone? Where has he gone?'

'I am not to say,' Odo replied, but continued anyway. 'There is an envoy from Rome visiting some of the towns hereabouts-a Spaniard, a Father Dominic. Abbot wishes him to visit, so he has ridden out to find him.'

'I see.' I suck my teeth and give him a shrug to show I will not try to pry any more out of him. 'Well, then…'

Odo bites his lip. He has something more to tell me, but cannot yet trust himself to speak. So I fish a little and see if I can tickle him into my net. 'How long will the abbot be away?'

'I cannot say, my lord,' says Odo, and I smile. He does not know what he has said yet. Give him time.

He blushes as it comes to him. 'Will, I mean…'

I chuckle at his small mistake. He has begun to think of me as a nobleman, and his superior. 'No harm, monk,' I tell him.

'It is just that there are a few things I do not understand.'

'Only a few?' I laugh. 'Then you are a better man than I.'

'In your story, I mean.'

'It is not a story, Odo,' I tell him. 'It is a man's life-I'm telling my life. And we both know how it's going to end. See you remember that.'

He looks at me, blinking his big, soft eyes. 'Well, the abbot has said we are not to pursue our tale any further just now.'

'Ah, I see.'

'So, I should be on my way.' He stands flat-footed and hunched in the cramped corridor.

He says he cannot stay, and yet he will not leave. Something holds him here.

'Well, perhaps,' I suggest lightly, 'the abbot would not mind if you spent a little time stalking the understanding that eludes you. It is for the abbot's benefit, after all.'

Odo brightens at once. 'Do you think so?'

'Oh, aye. Who else cares about the ravings of a wild outlaw?'

'This is exactly what I was thinking,' says he. 'It would do no harm to clarify a few of the details-clear up any misunderstandings for the abbot's benefit.'

'For the abbot's benefit, of course.'

Odo nods, making a firm decision for once in his soft pudding of a life. 'Good. I will come tomorrow.' Then he smiles; pleased with himself and revelling in this milk-mild defiance. He turns to go, but lingers. 'God's peace this night, Will.'

'And also with you,' I reply as off he scuttles.

There may be hope for Odo yet, please God.

Although the ending is in sight, there is, of course, much more of this tale, this life, to be told. How I came to be in this pinch, for one-but I will not tell this to Odo. Not yet. Distraction may be my best weapon just now-indeed, my only weapon. I must distract our ambitious abbot as long as I can to buy King Raven time to work and achieve his purpose. And it is all to do with that blasted ring and infernal letter.

Job's bones! I would not be here now if not for that stupid, bloody treasure. It will be the death of me, beyond a doubt. Truth be told, I fear it will be the death of many before this dreadful tale is done.

CHAPTER 21

Vale of Elfael

Marshal Guy de Gysburne leaned against the freshly daubed wall of Saint Martin's new tax house, and took in his first sight of the latest arrivals sparring at the edge of the square. Seven soldiers-three knights and four men- at-arms-they were the first muster of Abbot Hugo's personal army. Arguing that no abbot worthy of the name could long exist without a bodyguard to protect him as he performed his sacred office in a blighted wilderness full of hostile and bloodthirsty barbarians, Abbot Hugo had prevailed upon Baron de Braose to send troops for his protection and, Gysburne had no doubt, prestige. Indeed, the abbot seemed determined to create his own fiefdom within Elfael, right under de Braose's long, aristocratic nose.

Having arrived while Gysburne was away visiting his father in the north country, the seven newcomers had spent the last few days practising and idling in the town's market square. As Sir Guy watched them now, he found little to dislike. Though they were young men, judging from the way each deftly lunged and parried all were skilled in their weapons. Guy supposed that they had received their training in Aquitaine or Angevin before being recruited to join the baron's forces. Indeed, they reminded him of himself only a few short years ago: keen as the steel in their hands for a chance to prove themselves and win advancement in the baron's favour, not to mention increased fortune for themselves.

All the same, it would have surprised Guy if any of the newcomers had ever drawn human blood with their painstakingly oiled and sharpened blades, much less fought in a battle.

God willing, that would come. Just now, however, it was time to make the acquaintance of his new army. On a whim, Guy decided to take them hunting; a day in the saddle would give him a chance to see what manner of men they were, and it would do the fresh soldiers good to learn something of the territory that was their new home.

He walked out to meet his men in the square.

'To me!' he called, using the rally cry of the commander in the field. The soldiers stopped their practice and turned to see the lanky, fair-haired marshal striding across the square.

'Lord Gysburne!' shouted one of the knights to his fellows. 'Put up! Lord Gysburne has returned.'

The others stopped their swordplay and drew together to meet their commander. 'At your service, Lord,' said the foremost knight, a bull-necked, broad-shouldered youth who, like the others, had the thick wrists and slightly bowed legs of one who has spent most of his short life on the back of a horse, with a sword in his hand. The others, Guy noted, seemed to defer to him as leader of the band and spokesman.

'The sergeant said you were away,' the young knight explained. 'I thought best to keep our blades busy until you returned.' He smiled, the sun lighting his blue eyes. 'Jocelin de Turquetil at your service.'

'My best regards, Jocelin,' replied Guy. 'And to you all,' he said, turning to the others. 'Welcome to Elfael. Now then, if any of the rest of you have names, let's hear them.'

They proceeded to introduce themselves around the ring: Alard, Osbert,Warin, Ernald, Baldwin, and Hamo. They spoke with the easy exuberance of men for whom the day held only possibilities, never disappointment. As Guy had surmised, two came from Angevin and three from the baron's lands in Aquitaine; the others had been born in England, but raised in Normandie. This was their first sojourn in Wallia, but all had heard of the ferocity of the native Britons and were eager to try their strength at arms against them.