The Heirs of Locksley (The Robin Hood Stories 2)

God must take special care to look after one such as Eleanor; Mary was sure of it.

A commotion rose up at the transept door, and there emerged onto the path a crowd of liveried attendants, pages with cups and cloaks, bishops with their mitres, dukes and lords with collars of state, and in the middle of them all a tall, thin boy. All processed this way. Mary quickly tugged Eleanor to her feet. “Here, curtsey now, hurry.”

As the king and his company passed by, Mary curtseyed deep, her face down. Kept her arm across Eleanor’s shoulders to make sure she did likewise. She did steal one quick glance. Eleanor was doing just the same, curiosity getting the better of

both of them, though they’d have done better to go unnoticed.

In that moment King Henry looked over, caught her gaze. She nearly choked. What was the penalty for accidentally looking at the king? Well, nothing for it but to smile—so Mary offered a quick smile. King Henry smiled back, just as quick, before turning his attention to the path as his lords and bishops marched him onward, back to the sprawling palace.

“Well, what about that?” Mary said, after the commotion had passed by and she and Eleanor straightened to look after it. Eleanor was smiling, which meant she liked the boy king. Eleanor didn’t like many people. Like as not, though, that was as close as any of them would get to him their whole lives. That was a story to tell her children.

* * *

Moments like this, John knew all the old stories about Robin the outlaw were true. Even now, his father behaved like a man who had lived with a sword at his throat for years. He kept his back to the wall, and when there wasn’t a wall or a good solid oak to shelter by, he never settled.

“Where are they?” Robin said, keeping to the edge of the festival crowd. He searched his surroundings with a focused manner that was disconcerting, as if he expected a fight to break out and needed to predict where the first blow would come from.

“I sent them out the side door. Eleanor needed air,” Marian answered. She took Robin’s arm, and it wasn’t for herself; it was to steady him.

“Ah,” Robin said, and continued to search for enemies.

“There they are,” Marian announced and went off to meet the two figures walking arm in arm from the church. Their veils fluttered, their skirts rippled. Mary was a woman grown, John was startled to see, though honestly she had always seemed old and staid to him. She was taller than their mother, otherwise almost her picture, with dark chestnut hair braided up and a bright face. Eleanor would be their triplet in a few more years, though her hair was light. John wondered what he looked like, standing next to his father. Still a foolish lanky boy, no doubt, his coat too big and his shoes too small. He had no beard to speak of yet.

John started to go with his mother, when Robin called to him. “A word, John.”

Robin turned all that intense attention on his son, and John felt the weight of it though he tried very hard to not show it. He was aware of steeling his shoulders so they would not seem to bend. To be this man’s heir . . .

“Yes, sir?” John said.

His father put a hand on his shoulder. “When the time comes, you will go swear fealty to the king on my behalf, as my heir.”

“I will? But . . . why?”

“Did you notice?” Robin of Locksley said. “The young king is surrounded by old men. His father’s men, old councilors and bishops. Until he comes of age, they’re the ones ruling the kingdom. The king—he will need friends close to his own age. And you will need to get to know him. God willing, you will be dealing with each other as liege lord and vassal for decades to come. All those old men—and me—will be dead sooner rather than later. King Henry will need friends. Do you understand?”

To his own shock, John thought he did, and this worried him. He was used to not understanding much of anything beyond which end of a sword or arrow was meant to go into the enemy. But maybe that applied here after all, in a manner of speaking. “This is about politics.”

“Yes. And about a young boy who looks as if he could use a friend or two. Your sisters will go with you. You’ll all make a pretty picture, I wager. It should catch his attention. I’m not asking you to scheme or plot. Just . . . be his friend, if it turns out he wants one.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, I think.”

“Besides, I would only be a distraction.” He grinned and winked. Ah yes, the old king’s men would remember Robin, wouldn’t they?

“You want Mary along so she’ll kick me in the ankle when I say something stupid,” John said.

Robin laughed. “You see, my lad, you know exactly what you’re about.” He ruffled his son’s hair—had to reach up to do that; John had gotten that tall, at least.

It wasn’t facing the king, pledging fealty, or the formality that gave John pause. It was all the old men around the king, as Robin had said. They would not take John seriously. He had done nothing to prove himself. He had nothing to recommend himself, except for who his father was.

He did not like this talk of Robin being gone one day. Then all would fall to John.

“What’s this?” Robin murmured.

A group of men approached. The one in the lead, a solidly built man with a trimmed brown beard and glaring eyes, older than John but not nearly as old as Robin, was richly dressed, a red mantle over an embroidered coat, with gold clasps, a fine leather belt and shoes. With him were a handful of knights and squires, swords at their belts and steel in their gazes.

Robin glanced across the square, gave a bare nod. His oldest friend, Will Scarlet, was there, a tall silver-haired man in plain tunic, unassuming by intention. He leaned up against the corner of a shop, supposedly watching a juggler. He nodded back but stayed where he was, alert, unobtrusive.

John wasn’t as good with heraldry and faces as Mary was. Who was this man?