The Chief Justiciar glanced briefly at the Bishop of Winchester and nodded to the king. “I don’t know what letter you speak of, Your Grace.”
“Indeed,” Henry said calmly.
In the meantime, Peter des Roches was turning florid. “Your Grace, it is very late. Perhaps you would like to return to your chambers?”
For a moment, John thought Henry was going to refuse, out of high spirits or a need to continue wielding this authority he’d discovered. But it was very late, and the young king seemed suddenly tired. His shoulders slouched, just a little.
“Very well,” Henry said. He turned to John. “Thank you for your good service to us, Lord John. You may go.”
“I am always your servant, Your Grace.” John bowed deeply, glancing up long enough to see Henry smile before he turned to the door and went inside, flanked by actual guards.
And that was the end of that.
John straightened and started to turn, when both de Burgh and des Roches were suddenly before him. This is it, John thought. Now I am done for.
“My lord Justiciar. We will have words later,” des Roches stated calmly, but his glare was iron.
De Burgh looked as if he thought to say one thing, then smiled wryly. “We always do, my lord bishop.” He turned and walked off. The men, John’s attackers from earlier in the evening, started to scurry after the Chief Justiciar, but he angrily waved them off.
“John of Locksley.” The Bishop of Winchester said the name like a curse.
“My lord.”
“I suppose you expect some sort of show of gratitude.”
“Not at all, my lord. Walking out of here on my own two feet is reward enough, I assure you.” Now, he must leave here, quickly, before anybody got any ideas about him . . .
“You have an interest in politics?”
“No, my lord. We were just climbing trees.”
The bishop tilted his head and seemed confused. “Climbing trees?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Was this your father’s idea?”
“Oh, no,” John said, determined to leave Robin out of it. “In fact, I think I am going to be in a great deal of trouble the next time I see him. My lord.” He winced.
The Bishop of Winchester smiled, snake-like. “Well, then, you’d best be off and get it over with.”
“My lord.” John bowed himself out, under the intense watch of guards and hostlers and squires and hangers-on. If they could pull him apart with just their stares, they would have.
As soon as he was out of the courtyard and out of sight, he ran.
* * *
Mary wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of the day. Dawn was nigh; a half-awake gray haze had crept over them without her noticing. Even the ho
rses’ feet were dragging as they finally returned home. All she could think: William would have to come see her, if he wanted to get his horses back.
They halted just outside the camp. Robin and his whole company were gathered there and seemed to be preparing for an expedition—quivers over shoulders, swords at hips, bows and staves in hand. Robin, Will Scarlet, Dav of Doncaster, Grace, the rest of their troop, Marian with a cloak over her shoulders, lantern in hand. There’d be no sneaking past this.
“Damn,” John muttered.
Their father put his hands on his hips as he looked them up and down. “Well. Good morning, my darling children.”
“Morning, sir!” John said brightly as if they had just come back from picking berries. “You’re all up early!”