leggings and a dark red cape draped around his shoulders. His eyes were ice blue, and his beard was neatly trimmed and flecked with gray. It was hard to guess his age, but he had the appearance of confidence. If this was the Shire Reeve, he would not be easily persuaded.
He stared at me in total disdain but did not speak.
“I seek the Shire Reeve of Nottingham,” I said.
“You have found him,” he said.
“Ah, thank you, sire,” I said. “I’m Tristan of St. Alban’s of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and King Solomon’s Temple and I-”
“You’re a Knight of the Temple?” he sneered, hardly believing me. Angel, sitting at my side, let out a low growl. I shushed her, and he glanced down and blanched, as if I’d committed a mortal sin by bringing a dog into his constabulary.
“Oh no, sire, not a knight, certainly. I’m a squire, actually, but I’ve been sent here on a matter of utmost urgency to the Order. I’m in pursuit of a man,” I said, spinning my web.
“And how does this concern me?” he asked.
“Well, sire, his name is Robard Hode, of Sherwood Forest. He has recently returned home from distinguished service in the Crusades and. . may I have your name, sire?” I asked.
The man sniffed. “My name is William Wendenal. And your Robard Hode arrived here but a short while ago, making many wild accusations. He was subdued by my bailiffs and now resides in my jail. I hardly believe such a ruffian would be of any interest to the Order.”
“I understand, sire, I rightly do. And from what I’ve heard he is a hot-tempered sort. But there’s Order business involving Master Hode I must see to. I’ve a letter here from my knight, Sir Thomas Leux. It asks anyone whom I encounter for their assistance, with the thanks and praise of the Templar Knights.” I removed Sir Thomas’ letter from my satchel, hoping the oilskin had preserved it well enough that it was still readable. Why hadn’t I checked it before I came in? But there was no time now. I handed it to Wendenal with Sir Thomas’ ring showing on my finger. I sincerely hoped it would be enough to convince him I was a legitimate
It was not.
“Do you take me for a fool, boy?” he sneered, shoving the parchment back at me without even reading it.
“I assure you, sire, I do not,” I replied with as much earnestness as I could muster.
“Good. Then you will understand perfectly well when I tell you I have no intention of releasing my prisoner to you.” He thrust Sir Thomas’ letter into my hand.
“That is most unfortunate, sire. What can I do to convince you of the seriousness of this matter?” I pleaded.
“Nothing. Now, take your dog and leave or I shall have my bailiffs escort you out.”
With a heavy sigh, I rolled up Sir Thomas’ parchment letter and returned it to the satchel.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sire,” I said. “However, if I may have one more moment of your time.” The Shire Reeve already had turned his back to me. When he looked over his shoulder, his eyes flew open wide at the sight of my sword mere inches from his neck.
“What is the meaning of this!” he demanded.
“I’m afraid I must insist you take me to the prisoner at once.”
22
Don’t make a sound,” I said. “Do not alert your bailiffs or so help me you will lose an ear.” I kept my voice low. Angel stood and growled, moving quickly to the hallway and sniffing the air.
“Quiet, girl,” I said to her.
“You are a fool,” the Shire Reeve whispered. “My bailiffs-”
I pushed the sword closer to his neck and his words died in his throat.
“One sound from you, a shout, even a heavy sigh and I will run you through,” I said. “Do you understand me, sire? This can be over quickly, with no harm done if you pay attention. How many bailiffs are on duty in the jail?”
“I won’t tell you any-” he stammered, but another jab from my sword persuaded him to speak the truth. “There are two. Only two.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Now, you will turn and walk silently down the hallway. You will take us directly to Master Hode and you will not call out or warn anyone, is that clear?”
“You won’t-”
“Is that clear!?” I said through clenched teeth, moving the sword ever closer to his throat.
With exaggerated care, William Wendenal, the Shire Reeve of Nottingham, turned and walked down the hallway. Angel took the lead, her nose constantly working the air, and I followed behind him, my sword point pressed against the small of his back. The hallway was as spartan as the room we had just left. Over the Shire Reeve’s shoulder I could see light ahead as it led to a bigger room, which must be the jail.
Angel gave a low whine and I assumed it was because she smelled men ahead, or perhaps she had caught Robard’s scent. I shushed her and we kept moving forward.
“I have the authority to hang you for this,” Wendenal said.
“Sire, there is a long list of people far more powerful than you who have threatened to hang me, and yet I’m still here. Be silent.”
The walk down the hallway took an eternity. With every step I second-guessed myself. My heart was hammering in my chest as we stepped into a large room with stone walls and a series of iron-barred cells along the rear wall. Two bailiffs sat at a large table to my left. At first they didn’t understand the situation, but once they observed my sword pointed at the back of the Shire Reeve, they jumped to their feet, drawing their own blades.
“The first of you to move against me will have your reeve’s blood on his hands,” I said as calmly as I could.
They stood stock-still. When I chanced a glance at the cells, my heart sank, then pounded with rage. There were three of them, each nearly ten feet on a side. And they were full of men, at least ten or fifteen in each cage. They were dirty and ragged, and their smell nearly overwhelmed me. They were so crowded together there was barely room for any of them to move.
“What have these men done to be treated so?” I demanded.
“They have refused or proved unable to pay their properly levied taxes to the crown,” the Shire Reeve insisted.
“My God. And you think you’ve the right to lock them up like animals?” I nearly cried.
“They have broken the law. There is-”
“Enough!” I interrupted him.
I couldn’t spot Robard through the crowded cells. They were too full of men. But Angel found him. She barged forward to the center cell and wormed her way through the bars. Startled, the men inside moved aside as she ran to Robard, who was sitting against the rear wall. He was in bad shape. He appeared to have been beaten severely and sat with his head slumped forward on his chest, but when Angel jumped into his lap, he raised his head and gazed at me through swollen eyes.
“I was wondering when you’d get here,” he groaned.
“Can you stand? Walk?” I asked.
He nodded and two men in his cell helped him to his feet.
“Sorry about your jaw,” he said.
“Don’t worry. Maryam hits harder than you.” I laughed as I spoke, and so did he. And it might be true: Maryam did hit awfully hard.
Watching him limp slowly toward the door, my blood boiled. If I had not sworn to obey the Templar Code, I would have struck down the Shire Reeve, defenseless or not.
