TW01 The Ivanhoe Gambit NEW (15 page)

Marion got up slowly, rubbing her hip. "Where did you learn
that
trick?" she said, no longer angry.

Finn shrugged. "It's no great feat," he said. "It is a way of fighting they have in the East. It was taught to me and Robin by a knight returned from the Crusades."

"A knight! Why would a knight bother with a Saxon outlaw?"

"This was a Saxon knight," said Bobby. "We met him at the tournament. He was much impressed with the way I handle a longbow and offered to teach me and John some of the art of this foreign way of fighting in return for instructing him in archery."

"
You
taught a knight the longbow?" she said, astonished.

"Well, it was not completely foreign to him, being a Saxon," Bobby said. "And he already had some skill with a crossbow."

"
You
taught him?
You?"

"John, I don't think she believes me," Bobby said.

Finn shrugged. "Show her."

Bobby strung his bow. He looked at Marion and grinned. "What shall we shoot at?"

"I think you're starting to believe your own fantastic boasts," she said. "You could never beat me."

"Ah, but that was before I gave up drinking," Bobby said.

Marion strung her own bow. "I see it's time to put you in your place again," she said. "Very well."

She nocked an arrow and, choosing a stout oak tree on the far side of the camp, she drew her bow back and let fly. The arrow sailed across the camp, narrowly missing one of the men who had just exited his hut. He yelped and dove back inside. The arrow struck the tree trunk and stuck there.

"Right," said Marion. "Let's see how close you can place your shaft to mine. Perhaps you'll even split it as you did Hubert's." She laughed, mockingly.

Bobby removed his quiver from his shoulder, handing it to John.

"Hold that for me, will you, Little John?"

Finn winked at Bobby as Bobby drew out a black arrow. With Bobby standing between him and Marion, Finn reached into the quiver and drew out the little black box.

"A black arrow?" Marion said.

"A new idea of mine," said Bobby. "I thought to have all the merry men use black arrows."

"Why?"

"To strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, to mark that the arrow comes from one of Robin Hood's merry men."

"Ah, I see," said Marion, with mock gravity. "Perhaps we should all wear some sort of crest upon our chests, as well? Crossed black arrows upon a cask of ale?"

By way of an answer, Bobby nocked the arrow, first taking care to quickly disarm it, drew the bow back to his ear, and let it fly. The black box did the rest. Marion's arrow was neatly split.

The merry men cheered, throwing their caps into the air and pounding one another on the back.

Marion stared at him with total disbelief.

"I could not believe that story about your winning the tournament," she said, "yet now I see it with my own two eyes! You really
can
shoot!"

"And you doubted me," said Bobby.

Marion unstrung her bow, then swung it with both hands. It whistled through the air and struck Bobby on the side of his head.

"Jesus!"
He clapped his hand to his left ear, wincing with pain. "Are you crazy?"

"All this time, you could shoot so well, and yet you deprived me of such marksmanship by
being a drunkard!"
She grabbed him by the hair and shook his head furiously. "
If I
ever see you touch
a drop of drink again, God be my judge, you 'II live out the remainder of your life a gelding!"

She shoved him away from her, then turned to face the merry men, who all instantly grew silent.

"Tomorrow, we start to learn these new tricks of fighting," she said. "And from this moment on, any man who cannot hold his drink will be hung up by his thumbs! Neither are you excluded, Tuck, holy friar or not." She stalked off to her lean-to, but paused and turned around before entering. "One more thing,"

she said. "From now on, we use black arrows."

The merry men glared balefully at Finn and Bobby.

"Well, how about that?" said Bobby.

"She sure is some kind of lady," Finn said.

"What kind is that?"

Finn grinned. "I guess you'll find out tonight."

"I have a feeling we're not very popular around here right this minute," Bobby said.

Finn nodded. "We'll be even less popular tomorrow morning, when I start in on these rampant specimens of manhood."

"We may have some desertions," Bobby said.

Finn shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Because the only alternative to us is honest work."

"Good point."

"Robin!"

"I think the lady's calling you."

"Robin!"

Bobby sighed. "Lousy army."

Finn chuckled. "It's a living."

Cedric didn't make it easy.

Lucas was waiting for the right moment to confront him, but the old man began ranting about the

"Norman dogs" the moment they left the castle. There wasn't a pause in his tirade until they had reached the edge of the forest. By that time, he had commented extensively upon the ancestries of all the Normans present at the banquet, excluding Andre de la Croix, who, conceded Cedric, was at the very least a better mannered knight than the rest of "those swine from Normandy."

"That despicable Templar is the worst of their lot!" said Cedric, showing not the slightest sign of winding down. "If I were a younger man, I would have it out with him upon the field of battle! Athelstane, you should have split his skull! No, no, it was well that you didn't. Never let it be said that a Saxon drew sword upon his host, no matter what the provocation! We must see to it that his skull is split at the very next opportunity, however. Would that the white knight had split it for him! Oh, how my heart sang when I saw how well he humbled them! Would that I knew who he was so I could hold a great feast in his honor!"

Seeing his chance, Lucas quickly said, "I can tell you who this white knight is, my lord."

"What, you know him?"
Cedric reined in his horse and slipped a small golden bracelet off his wrist.

"Good palmer, I will give you this bracelet if you name him to me!"

"Keep your bracelet, my lord. I will proudly do you this service without payment. This white knight was a Saxon who had gone off to fight for the Holy Land with
Coeur-de-Lion."

"Ha! I
knew
he was a Saxon! I cannot say that I hold with any true Saxon going off to fight in foreign lands while his own nation is held hostage, but for the way he unhorsed those Norman bastards, I forgive him!"

"Then forgive your son, my lord," said Lucas, "for his nameis Ivanhoe."

"No! It cannot be! I
have
no son!"

Lucas pulled back his cowl. "I plead your forgiveness, Father. Can you find it in your heart to take your son back?"

"You!"

Rowena gave a small shriek and almost fell from her saddle. At that moment de la Croix attacked.

The first thing Lucas became aware of when he came to was that his head was throbbing. He put his hand to his forehead and was surprised to encounter a bandage. He was also surprised to find himself lying in a bed. He gradually became aware of his surroundings. He was in a small wooden cabin with a planked floor. There were shutters on the windows and these shutters were closed, but there was light inside the cabin. He moved his head slightly and saw a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was music in the cabin. A Bartok concerto for the recorder. He sat up quickly and immediately collapsed back on the bed with a groan.

"Take it easy there, pilgrim," said a man's voice. "You've had a nasty crack on the head and you've got a concussion."

Lucas looked up and saw the man bending over him. He looked like an old man at first, but then Lucas realized that what gave that impression was his extremely long hair, which was streaked with gray, and his long, full beard. The face behind the foliage was youthful and the blue eyes were clear and bright.

The man wore a long, clean, beautifully embroidered velvet caftan. There were dragons on both sides of his chest, their tails curling down to his knees. When the man turned around to pick up something from the table, Lucas saw that the back of the caftan was embroidered with the words "Hong Kong."

"Here you go, pilgrim. Have some chicken soup. It's good for what ails you."

"Jesus, I'm hallucinating," Lucas said.

The man in the caftan pursed his lips. "Don't think so. I can fix that, though. I've got some dynamite acid here from 1969, that oughtta do the trick. But with you being in the shape you're in, I don't think a trip would be such a good idea."

Lucas sat up, much more slowly this time. The man sat down on the bed with the bowl of soup in his hand. He spooned out some of it and fed it to Lucas.

Lucas swallowed the hot broth. "Who the hell are you?"

"Name's Hunter," said the man. "Lieutenant Reese Hunter, late of the U.S.T.C. Here, have some more soup."

"Where am I? What am I doing here? What happened?"

"Just relax and eat your soup, son. We'll take things one at a time, okay?"

Lucas nodded and opened his mouth as another spoonful approached.

"Answer to number one: You're in my cabin. We're smack dab in the middle of the woods here, you can barely get around without a machete. It's not that bad, actually, but we're off the beaten track and no one's likely to bother us. As for answer number two, what you're doing here is recovering from the answer to number three, which I can only take a wild stab at, but as near as I can tell, it appears that your head side-swiped a mace. I found you wandering around out there in shock and I brought you in and sewed you up."

"How'd you know I was a—"

"Whoever hit you not only busted you up pretty well," said Hunter, "they also smashed your implant.

I'm a pretty decent surgeon, which is a lucky thing for you, and I removed it. I'll show it to you if you like, but the little suckers are tiny and your vision probably isn't going to be so hot for a while."

"You're an observer," Lucas said.

Hunter laughed. "Oh, no, not me. I'm through with that gig. I'm just a plain old citizen."

"I don't understand."

"I'm a deserter."

"I don't believe it."

"It's the truth. See, I just sort of . . . well, retired, you might say. I take it you're here on an adjustment."

Lucas nodded.

"I figured as much. There's some kind of circus going on back here, a real crazy merry-go-round.

They've been sending people back and forth and back and forth, I mean, it's really frantic. At first, I figured maybe they were on my trail, but that just didn't add up, so the only other answer had to be a threatened timeline split. That's a bad deal, friend. Heavy business. Standard duty's bad enough, but an adjustment on a split, that could be a real killer. If you're smart, you'll just throw in with me and take a real long vacation. You're KIA now, with your implant out. They'll never trace you. I've got a pretty nice set-up here, all the comforts of home. I could do with some company. What do you say?"

Lucas looked slowly around the cabin and, at first glance, he took in the sound system, the microwave oven, the holovision and the cassette file, thousands of books, a reading lamp and chair, several Persian rugs, racks of pipes with tobacco humidors beside them ...

"How on earth did you . . ." His voice trailed off as the answer became obvious.

"What, all this stuff?" said Hunter. "No sweat. I've got a chronoplate."

The sheriff sat at the table in his chambers at Nottingham Castle, scratching his head and frowning.

He poured himself another goblet of wine to help him think. He was an extremely large man and very muscular, a giant by the standards of his time. He towered over the man who paced the floor in his chambers, but that did not change the fact that this man intimidated him. The sheriff scratched his square, clean-shaven jaw and his slate gray eyes never left the pacing man. Richard had changed since he had returned from the Crusades. The sheriff, who was senior to his king in age (or so he thought) by a good ten years, decided that fighting Saladin had matured Richard. Always fiery, fierce and impetuous, the Lion Heart was now tempered with maturity. He had developed cunning and a cold, methodical ruthlessness that impressed him greatly.

"Damn me for a dullard, Sire, I
still
don't understand," he said.

Irving, dressed as the black knight, although sans his armor, stopped his pacing for a moment. He looked at the sheriff much the way a patient schoolteacher might gaze upon an inordinately slow pupil.

"All right, Guy. I shall explain it once again, but listen carefully this time. John has obtained a great deal of power in my absence. He now holds both York and Ashby and he has reassigned the lands of many of my faithful knights to his own followers. He has his own men at arms, whose number he has significantly increased, as well as the lances of De Bracy and his Free Companions. He also has the formidable Templar, Bois-Guilbert, in his good graces and Sir Brian has but to snap his fingers and the knights at the Preceptory of Templestowe will be at his beck and call. John has granted them complete autonomy within their province and they will be anxious to protect their interests against me. My differences with the Knights Templars and the Knights of St. John in the Holy Land will not aid my cause.

"I have my loyal followers," he continued. "I have Andre de la Croix in John's camp; I have you, Sir Guy, and your well trained men at arms, but we are still vastly outnumbered. I cannot afford to take direct action against my brother at this time. There are yet other forces about who seek to bring us down.

The time to strike is not yet ripe. You and I must make it so."

"This much I understand," the sheriff said, "but I do not see the purpose served by the abduction of this Saxon and his party. Will it not serve to alienate the people from our cause?"

"Oh,
think,
Guy, for pity's sake!" said Irving. "To what end does de la Croix impersonate De Bracy?