The closer we drew to Scotland, the more I worried over Sir Hugh’s whereabouts. It was just a tingle along my neck, but I felt as if he were closing in. As we traveled, the winter deepened, and each night it became necessary to build a fire or risk freezing. I would have preferred to stay at inns or even seek shelter from farmers in their barns along the way, but doing so would make it easier for him to find us.
I fretted and fussed a great deal on the trip, second-guessing myself at every turn. Each night I would stare into the fire for hours, trying to determine Sir Hugh’s next move. Where would he strike? How would I complete my mission while preventing him from wreaking havoc on my friends and their families? I could think of no easy answer, save what Robard and Maryam had already determined. He would not stop his quest for the Grail until his life was ended.
As Robard did in France, he rode apart from us during the day. For his mount, he had chosen a fleet roan gelding with great stamina, so each day he scouted, ranging far ahead, then circling back to check our rear, making sure our enemies did not take us by surprise.
He and Maryam were much more relaxed on the trip than I was. Before we left Hode land, Robard had given Maryam her own longbow and wallet of arrows, and when he returned each evening from his scout, he gave her shooting lessons. Her bow was a smaller version of his, and if I was any judge, she was becoming quite adept with it. Daggers and a longbow: now she was doubly lethal. Robard explained that it would take time to develop the muscles in her upper body to fully draw the bow, but before long she was easily striking tree trunks from forty and fifty paces away.
We also found time to continue Robard’s lessons, scratching words in the dirt near the fire each night, practicing over and over again. He quickly mastered his name, the alphabet and a few simple words and phrases. And the farther along we went, the more he continued to grasp.
One night Robard returned to our camp with a rolled piece of parchment and a big smile on his face. He strode happily to me, and beamed as I studied it:
WANTED
Dead or alive,
Robard Hode, late of Sherwood Forest,
for crimes against the King.
Reward offered by William Wendenal,
Shire Reeve of Nottingham.
I looked at his expression quizzically.
“I recognized the words
“It says you are wanted for crimes against the King and that a reward is being offered by William Wendenal,” I said.
“Excellent! A price on my head!” he exclaimed, even happier than before. “I found it on a signpost in a village I rode through this morning. Does it say how much I’m worth?”
“Alas, no, it is not specific as to your value,” I replied.
“How can you joke about this?” Maryam exclaimed, shaking her head. “This isn’t funny.”
“It most certainly is,” Robard said. “If there’s to be a price on my head, I want to make sure I’m not being undersold. Besides,” he said, handing her the parchment so she could read it for herself, “aren’t you proud of the fact that I could read well enough to recognize my own death warrant?”
Maryam shook her head in exasperation. “Yes, Robard, I’m very proud of you. But I’d still be if you couldn’t read a word. This is nothing to make light of. All this time, as we’ve traveled together, you’ve wanted nothing more than to go home to your family. And after seeing your land and the people, I understand why you were so eager. But this. .” She shook the parchment at him. “This changes everything! You’re not safe here. You’ve made an enemy of the Shire Reeve, and with times being so desperate, many will turn against you at the thought of a reward and. .”
Robard quickly drew an arrow from his wallet and let it fly. It plunked into a tree a short distance away. He had moved so quickly,
I had had no time to react and at first thought we were under attack. I scrambled to draw my sword and Maryam crouched, reaching for her daggers.
“That is what I think of William Wendenal and his price on my head. Both of you calm down. The Shire Reeve is not to be feared. He revealed his true colors back in Sherwood. He is a coward, and as for his reward he can kiss my-”
“Robard!” Maryam exclaimed.
“What?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
With an exasperated sigh, Maryam stormed off into the woods. Angel apparently took her side and trotted along beside her.
“Why is she so upset?” he asked me.
“You’re asking me?” I said. “How many times must I remind you I grew up in a monastery? Perhaps she feels you’re being reckless, refusing to acknowledge how dangerous your life has become. You realize once this is over and you return to Sherwood, it will not be peaceful. Not as long as William Wendenal is there.”
Robard plopped down on a log next to the fire. “Feh,” he said, kicking at one of the flaming timbers with his boot. “Wendenal doesn’t worry me.”
We let the conversation drop, and before long Maryam returned from her sojourn to the forest and we all fell into a fitful sleep, with each of us taking turns standing watch.
The next morning, we ate a light breakfast from the bag of food Tuck had sent along with us and then Robard rode off, as was his custom.
Later in the day, we skirted the city of Leeds and kept heading north. The countryside became more remote and uncultivated, with dense forest and underbrush, and it was often difficult to find a clear trail. We crossed back and forth trying to make decent time, but the landscape did not cooperate.
A few days later we finally pushed past the city of Gateshead and made better time along the coast. Now that we were firmly inside Scottish boundaries, Little John’s words came back to me and I worried about the clans. Each morning as Robard prepared to depart on his scout, I begged him not to engage in any conflict with anyone. The last thing we needed was angry Scotsmen chasing us in addition to the King’s Guards and whatever Templars Sir Hugh had enlisted. He promised he wouldn’t, and for several days he spoke to no one.
One night he returned to our camp and asked to see the crude map Little John had drawn for us.
“What was the name of the river leading to Rosslyn?” he asked.
“The River Esk,” I replied. “Why?”
“I found it,” he said. “There is a small hamlet not far north of here, and I inquired from a smith if he knew the river. Told him I had cousins lived along it, south of Edinborough. He wasn’t a friendly chap. Scotsmen aren’t free with the talk. But I dragged the location out of him, and sure enough rode off and found it.”
We were almost there. As we lighted a fire that evening and sat by it talking amongst ourselves, I pondered our next moves. We should reach Rosslyn tomorrow, and I felt excitement and nervousness all at once. After months of desperate travel, the end of my journey was near.
As the fire dimmed, we all grew quiet and I wondered if Maryam and Robard were thinking the same thoughts as I. Then a low growl sounded in Angel’s throat and she stood up. We were shocked to see our camp surrounded by ten mounted men. They all wore kilts and carried large battle-axes, swords and various other instruments for killing and maiming.
We did not have to worry about finding the Scots. They had found us.
28
The three of us stood back to back, our weapons in our hands. Angel growled and barked and stood in front of me. The men said nothing and their horses stood stock-still. Their faces were painted in an odd
