The Heirs of Locksley (The Robin Hood Stories 2)

“They’re dressed like clerks. Except the two guards, that is. I do not know them.”

They came to a gap in the hedgerow and ducked through. The tangle of vegetation was nothing like the oaks of Sherwood, which Mary missed terribly just now.

Across the field, the first of the encampments huddled, pale tents showing bright even without moonlight on them. “We’ll find help among the camps,” Mary said.

“Not all those camps are friendly,” John put in.

Henry started eagerly, “Your father’s camp—”

Mary shook her head. “On the other side of the field and well apart. He doesn’t much like being too close to anyone.”

John sighed. “Surely we can find someone close by. We have the king with us, for God’s sake!”

“I do not like to say it,” Mary said, “but a good number of these barons are still rebels at heart and might like to have his Grace—Henry—land in their laps, to do with him as they please.”

“God, that’s devious,” John said, and she could not tell if his tone was aghast or admiring.

“I am not afraid of anyone,” Henry declared. But he did not deny that someone might try to hold him hostage, sell him to the French, or worse.

Eleanor tugged on Mary’s sleeve; the men were closing on them.

John eased Walter off his shoulder. “Eleanor, give me that,” he said, taking the rake from her. “I’ll lead them away while the rest of you get help.”

“Absolutely not! You’ll be killed!” Mary said.

“I won’t. Wait and see.” He grinned, bowed to the king, and trotted off.

“John!”

King Henry looked after him wistfully, and Mary wondered how she would stop him from following. Or perhaps they could simply show Henry and use him as a shield to get back to the abbey—

“Will he be all right?” Henry asked worriedly.

“He has been so far,” Mary conceded.

“Your Grace, I will go to the abbey and get help,” Walter said carefully, still wobbling.

“You’re not well, sir,” Mary said.

John trotted along the hedgerow, rake over his shoulder, collecting rocks as he went. He made a spectacle of himself, throwing rocks at their pursuers until they shouted, pointed, and gave chase. Then he ducked through to the other side of the hedge and out of sight.

That was it, their chance to move unseen. “Come on, to the end of the field, then we can turn back to the abbey. Eleanor—”

But Eleanor was gone.

* * *

Leading bad men on a merry chase was not as easy in an open field as it was in Sherwood. Why were there no forests around Westminster? Instead, nothing but miles and miles of pastures and fields full of grains and turnips. If John could get these fellows turned around so that they didn’t know where they were, he’d consider the job done. Alas, the great spires of the abbey church rose up like a beacon to mark their place. No one could ever get lost around here, not really. And John did not know this land, where the streams and glens were, which were the best places to hide, and where to set traps. Fortunately, these were town and court men, like as not to trip over clods of dirt in the countryside. Still, their daggers and swords would run him through well enough if they caught up to him. The lantern one of them carried drew ever closer.

He squeezed through the branches of the hedgerow and waited.

Six men, as Henry had said. Were they following some lord’s orders, or was this a petty disagreement against poor Walter? And what of the letter they spoke of? It didn’t matter. John had only to keep them busy while Mary got the others away.

“Where’d he go?” one of the men asked.

“Who is it?”

“I didn’t recognize him.”