TW01 The Ivanhoe Gambit NEW (19 page)

Many of the men were lice infested and this malady was cured by making all the outlaws shave all the hair from their bodies and scrub vigorously in wooden tubs while fire-heated water was poured over them. The complaints they made as a result of this were greatly multiplied when there followed the obligatory period of itching from the stubble as their hair grew back. Finn and Bobby did not exempt themselves from this; Finn shaved because he believed in setting a good example and not demanding anything of "his men" that he would not do himself. Bobby followed suit because he had discovered, to his great disgust, that Marion had gifted him with crabs.

It had taken both of them to wet her down and shave her, which task was accomplished only after her struggles had resulted in her taking some bad cuts from Finn. He finally smashed her in the jaw and told her that if she would not lie still, he would skin her alive. She suffered the treatment stoically from then on, but when it came time to scrub her down, she fought them, clawing like a wildcat. The merry men were more than eager to assist Finn and Bobby in the task.

When it was all done, they all looked like Army boots in training. And, not surprisingly, the process had taken a good deal of the resistance out of them. They were also pleasantly surprised to be free of their tiny livestock at long last.

Breakfast was followed by a general clean-up of the camp as their existence became regimented.

The clean-up was followed by inspection, which was followed by a period of drill and calisthenics. Finn was a ruthless taskmaster and he was ably assisted by Marion, who would not be outdone by any of the others. Finn and Bobby also saw to it that there was a variation in their diet and that cooked food was cooked properly. They worked hard and they ate well. Whatever recalcitrance remained vanished the moment they were able to put their new training into practice.

The soldiers had no desire to reform the merry men. They were outlaws and outlaws they would remain. Plying their trade helped them to put their training into practice. The first time, Finn and Bobby directed them in a foray against one of the sheriff's tax collecting parties.

The sheriff's tax collector was well protected by a party of knights and men at arms, a force that ordinarily the outlaws would have refrained from attacking. Finn had Bobby, with a group of about ten outlaws, block the party's progress by jumping out from under cover ahead of them with shouts of "Stand and deliver!" The sheriff's men reacted in the proper fashion to such a confrontation. The knights couched their lances and, closely followed by the men at arms, they charged —right into the line of fire of the twenty some odd archers Finn was commanding, who were under cover to the right of the trail. The result was that the sheriff's men were caught in a deadly crossfire, from the front and from their flank. At that distance, with the cloth-yard shafts and the incredibly powerful pull of the longbows, armor provided only the most superficial protection. The ambush was devastatingly effective and the outlaws made a tidy haul. Alan-a-dale was inspired to compose a song about the incident. In a short time, Finn and Bobby had instilled within the outlaws something which they had sorely lacked up to that point—
esprit de
corps.

But there was still one dark cloud on the horizon. There was no word from Lucas.

"He should have been here days ago," said Bobby. It was late and he and Finn were sitting by the embers of a fire. It would be dawn soon.

"How long has it been?" said Finn.

"I don't know," said Bobby. "A week? More? You think maybe Goldblum got him?"

"I don't know," said Finn. "I've had men making inquiries. No one seems to have seen either him or Hooker. Last word I had on Hooker was that he was staying with Isaac of York, but there's been no sign of him, either. He's vacated his rooms in the village of Ashby and he's not in York. I've sent men to Rotherwood, but Lucas isn't there. Nor is Cedric there, or Athelstane, or Rowena. It's like they've all just disappeared."

"They would have had to travel through Sherwood," Bobby said. "You don't think maybe—"

"No chance," said Finn. "If our guys had anything to do with it, I'd know about it."

Bobby smiled. "You really like them, don't you?"

"Like them? Yes, I suppose I do, at that. They're a good bunch. They work hard and they play hard.

In a way, they sort of remind me of Eric's men."

"Eric?"

Finn chuckled. "Eric the Red. Nastiest son of a bitch it was ever my pleasure to serve under. You think this is a heavy gig? I'll tell you what a rough gig is. Try heading out to open sea in a longboat.

Seventy-five feet from bow to stern, about ten feet in the beam, rigged with a Nordic square sail. God, those men were really something. Vikings. Greatest sailors ever lived, except maybe the Polynesians. I'll tell you something, we've got us a rough and ready bunch here, but they wouldn't last five minutes in a set-to with the Vikings."

"You know something, Finn? I think you were born too late."

"No way. I was born right smack on time. I wouldn't trade my life for anything. You and I, we're the ultimate soldiers. We can fight with anyone, anytime, anywhere. We've got all of human history to play with. I'll tell you one soldier who would've given his eyeteeth for living in our time and serving in the Temporal Corps. Fella by the name of Patton. Now there's a guy who was born too late, but not late enough."

"You're a romantic, Finn," said Bobby, softly.

"I guess I am, kid."

"I'm not." Bobby sighed. "I'm a realist. I can appreciate the way you feel, but what we're doing is dangerous, damned dangerous. Man never should have traveled back through time, Finn. It's wrong. It's crazy. Worse than that, it's stupid.

They're afraid to travel to the future because no one knows just what the future is. Is there
a
future? I mean, how many possibilities are there? Who knows what kind of bends and twists the timestream takes up ahead? Maybe someday some lunatic will actually try it, but they're scared of that right now and so long as they remain scared, I think there's still a chance that they'll come to their senses and stop the time wars. I don't know what it would take. Maybe something like this, maybe something worse, I just don't know, but I wish to hell they'd stop."

He stared at the embers silently as the sun came up.

"I want to go home," he said.

Andre was exhausted. She was grateful to drop Cedric off at Nottingham Castle. Blindfolding him had not been enough, it had finally been necessary to gag him, as well. She had had more than she could stand of his defiant epithets, Athelstane's ceaseless grumbling and Rowena's whining. She had finally ordered them all gagged, although she had to call one of the men over with a hand signal and whisper the command, since she could not imitate De Bracy's voice. The blindfolds served a dual purpose, protecting her masquerade as well as preventing the prisoners from seeing that they were being taken to Nottingham, rather than Torquilstone. Had the prisoners been able to see, they might have realized that she was not De Bracy; something might have given it away.

Taking them had been simple enough. The attack had been a complete surprise and every member of their party save for the three of them had been killed. It was a shame about the palmer who had been traveling with them. A simple pilgrim who had only desired safe passage through the wood, he was an innocent bystander. He had not even been armed. Still, she had her orders. She consoled herself that she had not hit him all that hard; perhaps there was a chance that the blow had not been fatal. It was a small consolation, but it was something.

Her stay at Nottingham had been extremely brief. She had remained there only long enough to see the prisoners turned over to the sheriff's men at arms and to pick up Marcel and change back into her own clothing and armor. Now, with Marcel riding at her side, she was once again the red knight, on her way to Torquilstone. De Bracy would welcome Andre de la Croix, never suspecting that he would be admitting his own murderer to his castle.

She was growing tired of playing ceaseless games of charade. Her breasts were hurting from the cloth that they were tightly swaddled in and she was badly in need of sleep. How long would it go on?

How long
could
it go on? With all the constant intrigue, the pressure was increasing. Her greatest fear was not that she would die, but that she would somehow make a mistake and be caught, that her true sex would be discovered. All things considered, it was remarkable that she had been able to get away with it for so long.

What would they do, she wondered, if they were to find out? Kill her? It was certainly possible.

Imprison her? More than likely. On the other hand, it was much more than a case of a peasant passing for a knight. She was a woman passing for a knight and she did not think that the men whom she had deceived would settle for any of the more traditional punishments. No, without doubt, for her they would devise something a bit more imaginative. Men such as Maurice De Bracy and Brian de Bois-Guilbert would never be able to accept that a woman had been able to hold her own with them, to prevail where they could not. There was no question of her ever being allowed to go free so that others might find out.

Yes, they might very well kill her in some extremely unpleasant manner, but men had other ways of getting revenge. She thought that death would be preferable.

Most of all, she was concerned about Marcel. Without her, what would become of him? To minimize the risk of discovery, she and Marcel had never stayed very long in any one place, had never accepted service for an extended period of time. It was past time for them to move on, her every instinct told her so. However, there would be no moving on so long as the black knight knew her secret and could expose her at will. The smart thing to do would be to kill him. Only ... how?

He claimed to be
Coeur de Lion,
but she no longer believed him. She did not know exactly
why
she did not believe him, but she was certain that he wasn't Richard any more than she was. Obviously, he was the very image of the departed king, since Sir Guy accepted him as such and the sheriff had known Richard well, and had at one time been among his men at arms. She had never seen Richard Plantagenet, so she had no way of knowing in what ways he had "changed" since returning from the Third Crusade.

Whoever this was, he had thus far kept her secret. Certainly, Sir Guy did not suspect she was a woman.

He treated her as an equal and they had spent many nights together, drinking and talking. She wasn't sure who repelled her more, Sir Guy or "Richard."

"He's returned a different man," the sheriff had said to her one night, while they sat before the fireplace drinking ale.

"Different in what ways?" she had said.

"In some ways, he seems more patient," said the sheriff. "And yet, the demons seem to drive him more than ever. I am the older man, and yet at times he seems to speak to me as if I were a child.

Indeed, he acts like an older man now." He nodded slowly. "War can age a man like that. War can make men old before their time, or it can turn them into mewling infants. He does not speak of it, you know."

"The Crusade?"

Guy nodded. "I have asked him once or twice what it was like. Each time, he turned the talk to something else. He will not speak of Saladin, of Philip, or of his captivity. He speaks only of winning back his throne and of John's treachery."

"Why does he choose to array himself in black, I wonder?" Andre said.

The sheriff chuckled. "Perhaps to match his thoughts."

"He thinks black thoughts and is driven by demons," Andre said. "You make the king sound like a warlock."

Guy laughed. "A warlock he is, by God, in battle! He fights with the strength of ten!"

"Perhaps he has gained secret knowledge in his travels."

"Secret knowledge? Black arts, you mean? Absurd! The king has no need to learn the art of making lead into gold or of consorting with demons. The demons driving Richard are all of his own making. They exist within his mind and heart. Now if it's witches you want, I'll show you one, soon as I lay my hands upon the treacherous bitch!"

"You know a witch?"

"I
married
one, God spurn her!"

"I did not know you had a wife, Sir Guy."

"There's the malady, I do
not
have her. She ran off to join the forest brigands, damn her eyes."

"The
outlaws?
Surely, you jest! Why would a lady go—"

"Because she is no lady, that's why! It's why I married her, too. Perhaps, de la Croix, you can understand, being a knight errant. I serve my king, but being sheriff of Nottingham shire is a soft job for a soft man. I am a fighting man. I have always been a fighting man. I have fought for everything I've won in life and I fought for my women, too. There is pleasure in a hard won victory. I have little use for pampered willows who will bend before the slightest wind. By God, give me a woman who will fight and scratch and kick! I took Marion from her father and he was glad to be rid of a troublesome wench, but I liked her spirit! Oh, how she fought me on our wedding night! Damn near took my eyes out and wrecked my manhood! I beat her black and blue and still she would not submit. By God, there was a woman, I thought!"

"Indeed," said Andre, dryly.

"Within the first week of our marriage, three times she tried to kill me," the sheriff said. "Once, she tried to stab me in my sleep. I still bear the scar upon my shoulder. After that, I tied her up when I was through with her and gagged her, so that I might sleep undisturbed. The second time, she tried poisoning my food. It was my good fortune that I had no appetite that day and but drank and ate some fruit. Still her effort cost me my best hound. I stripped some skin from off her shoulders with my lash and thereafter made her taste my meals first. The third time she involved the outlaws. She had often heard me speak of cleaning out these vermin from the forest and, before the king's return, I often led patrols into the wood myself. Well, she managed to get word to the outlaws through one of the stableboys and they arranged an ambush for me. Fortunately, they are as inept as they are unprincipled and I escaped, killing a good number of them and capturing several. My good wife, doubtless fearing that her part in the plot would be discovered by myself, freed the prisoners from my dungeons and escaped with them in the dead of night, little suspecting that I already knew of it and made the escape possible, hoping to trail them back to their hidden camp."