“I won’t be but a minute,” he said. He removed his bow and wallet, hanging them on the saddle, and drew Sir Thomas’ battle sword, which I was still too weak to carry. He marched up to the bridge and walked slowly toward the center, shouting all the way.
“All right, you miserable pile of polecat dung! Charge me to cross a bridge, will you? I think not!”
The man at the other end walked toward Robard slowly and unafraid, his staff tapping lightly on the wooden planks. Maryam and I sucked in our breath-he was huge, the biggest man I’d ever seen and nearly a full head taller than Robard.
“Oh no,” Maryam said.
“Oh. . yes. .,” I said. And then I shouted, “Robard! Wait! Come back!” For as the man reached the center of the bridge, he removed his cowl and there stood John Little, the Dover blacksmith who had forged my sword and saved me from the ruffians set upon me by the King’s Guards.
But Robard didn’t hear my cry. Instead he raised the sword above his head and with a mighty yell went charging forward.
Cringing, I leapt from my horse, hobbling as best I could after Robard, desperate to save my friend from the thrashing coming his way. But it was too late. Robard rushed ahead, screaming at the top of his lungs. John Little stood silently, staff held loosely in both hands, and watched Robard’s charge with a slightly bemused expression on his face.
When he was a few feet away from the giant man, Robard reared back and unleashed a mighty swing. The sword swept forward, and momentarily I feared he would connect and slay poor John.
But with an agility that belied his great size, John Little easily ducked the swing, and his staff flicked out like a serpent’s tongue, hooking Robard in the back of the knees. Robard went down in a heap, and John put his foot on the blade, holding it fast. With his staff, he pressed down on Robard’s chest, pinning him to the bridge.
“As I said. Two crosslets each,” John Little said quietly.
“Wait! Stop!” I cried. But my shout was drowned out by the sound of Maryam’s devilishly loud war cry. She nearly knocked me off the bridge as she went hurtling past, her daggers gleaming.
“Maryam, NO!” I yelled, and just managed to snatch her tunic as she ran by. She stopped short in my grasp and spun, eyes blazing, ready to fight me if necessary.
“What. . Let me go!” she yelled, pulling me along as she wiggled her way toward the center of the bridge.
“Everyone stop!” I shouted. Maryam’s eyes were full of confusion, and John stared at me with rapt concentration. Only Robard fought on, still squirming beneath the foot and staff of the giant.
I quickly drew my short sword and held it out hilt first toward the blacksmith. “John Little? You are a friend of Sir Thomas Leux. You made this sword for me, last spring, in Dover.” I raised it higher so he could get a better view of it. “My name is Tristan, of St. Alban’s. . I am. . was Sir Thomas’ squire. Remember? I brought his stallion Dauntless for you to reshoe and those two ruffians attacked me?”
“Yes. I remember you,” he said quietly. John stepped back and released Robard, who remained on his back for the moment.
“Little John. You told me everyone calls you Little John,” I went on.
Robard rolled to his feet. “You know this scoundrel?” he asked.
Before I or anyone could answer, Robard suddenly went flying through the air and landed with a resounding smack in the stream.
Little John had stepped forward, catlike, and with his staff as a lever lifted Robard off the ground, flipping him into the water. He had moved so quickly, I wondered if my eyes had deceived me. Robard came up sputtering and grabbed the bridge for support. He was cursing, and Maryam, who had grown calm as suddenly as she had been ready to fight, had to stifle a laugh.
Little John shook his head. “No need for name calling,” he said quietly.
“Fine, you’ve made your point. We’ll cross elsewhere,” Robard said. “Will you help me up or will that cost two crosslets as well?” He held his left hand out to the giant.
“As long as you’ve learned your lesson,” John said, grasping Robard’s hand. He pulled and Robard braced his feet against the bridge timbers, letting John raise him out of the water. But when he was nearly halfway up, Robard’s other hand shot out, grabbing John behind his right knee. Robard pulled hard, and as the big man’s knee collapsed, his weight pulled him forward. Before any of us knew it, Robard had thrown the giant over his shoulder and into the water. It was John’s turn to come up sputtering.
“Know this, Big John or Giant Man or Little Tiny Lad or whatever you call yourself. I am
Little John roared, and with frightening speed he lifted himself onto the bridge and retrieved his fallen staff. I rushed across the bridge and, without thinking, put myself between the two dripping wet combatants.
“Stop this now!” I commanded. “Robard, cease! Little John is a friend. This is a huge misunderstanding!” Trying to keep them apart was like standing between two prancing bulls, and I feared all three of us would tumble off the bridge. Eventually the steam went out of them and they stood quiet, if not quite placid.
“Little John,” I said, shaking his hand, “it is good to see you!”
“And you, Tristan. Tell me, why are you not with Sir Thomas?” he asked.
With as little detail as possible, I told him what had happened to us since he and I had last met in Dover. When I related what I feared of Sir Thomas’ fate, he bowed his head and went still a moment.
“A good man, that one,” he said. “I pray God watches over his soul.”
“John, why are you here? What happened to your smithy in Dover?” I asked him.
“Hmph. My smithy? The Lionheart’s brother John took care of that. Come. I’ve a camp not far from here. There isn’t much but I’ll share it with you. Even you,
“I hardly think so-” Robard sputtered, but I put my hand on his chest and shushed him.
“That would be wonderful. We’ve had. . a. . what you could call a very eventful day, and we could use the rest,” I said. Without another word, Little John retreated in the direction from which he’d come. We gathered up our gear and horses and followed as he disappeared into the thick woods, Robard fuming and muttering curses under his breath the whole way. Angel took the lead, content to sniff at the ground and follow Little John’s scent.
In a short while, we arrived at his camp. The fire was stoked and his tunic and other wet clothing dried on a bush nearby. He had changed into a loose-fitting cloak the size of a ship’s sail. An iron kettle full of pottage warmed over the fire. It was quite inviting.
He had placed several cut sections of logs near the fire and bade us sit.
“I don’t have much, but let the pottage simmer for a while and I’ll be happy to share.” John sat on a log, his hands holding his knees. Angel sniffed lightly at John’s leg and then leapt up into his lap and enthusiastically licked his face.
“Whoa! What have we here?” he exclaimed. He scratched Angel behind the ears and she flopped onto her back so John could rub her belly. Her head lolled over and I swear she locked her eyes directly on Robard, who paced back and forth behind Maryam and I while we sat on the logs near the fire.
“Traitorous beast,” he muttered under his breath.
“John, what happened in these last few months to make you leave Dover?” I asked.
“When Richard departed for the Holy Land, he left his sniveling brat of a brother John in charge. The bas-” He stopped, giving Maryam a sideways look. “Let’s just say he’s never met a tax he wouldn’t raise. He declared a ‘state of emergency’ to support the war, and he’s levied taxes on nearly every merchant, farmer and tradesman in the entire kingdom. No one can pay what he demands. And you can’t charge more to shoe a horse to cover the tax because no one else has money to pay you either.” He kicked at a log in the fire and sparks rose. The sun was peeking over the eastern sky, but it was still dark and overcast, and the flaming flecks swirled up into the air like swarms of bees.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He shrugged his giant shoulders. “I couldn’t keep my smithy open, and one day a group of King’s Guards showed up with the Shire Reeve. John was sending his own guards out to collect taxes. I guess the bailiffs and the reeves couldn’t collect it fast enough to feed his little pig face. Anyway, they told me what I owed and knew I couldn’t pay it. So they took my equipment and things got rough. I took on six of them, and gave ’em a licking,
