Nottingham was a smaller, more compact version of Dover. The difference was accentuated by Nottingham’s location here in the dense, wooded north country, whereas Dover lay by the coast, making it appear even larger with the sea as a backdrop. Nottingham still had a good-size marketplace and lots of shops and other buildings clustered together in a center square. But as we had seen in other towns and villages along our journey north, hard times had come here as well, and there wasn’t the level of activity and commerce you might expect. It was quiet, with only a few vendors visible in the square and small groups of people milling about.
“What day is it, Will?” I asked.
“I don’t rightly know, my lord. We tend to lose track of ’em out here in the woods. We’ve no priest at Sherwood now, and we can’t even keep track of the Holy Days, may the saints forgive us,” he said.
“I’m sure they have already, Will. I just wondered if it might be Sunday. And please stop calling me ‘lord.’ I’m most definitely not a noble.” He smiled and shrugged and stared down at the town. We would draw unneeded attention if we rode into town on the Sabbath carrying weapons and bristling for a fight. But there appeared to be enough people about to indicate it was not a Sunday.
“Where will we find the Shire Reeve?” I asked. “And is there anything else you can tell me about him?”
“He keeps at the constabulary. It’s here in the tall tower near the center of town and the jail is next to it. He came here straight from Prince John’s court, ’tis told,” Will said, pointing out the building. “Like the mistress said, he’s a vile man, vain and pompous when you meet him. That’s all I can tell you, sire. Except if he catches any one of me or the boys, we’ll dangle from the rope for certain.”
“Let’s try not to let that happen then. Something tells me we’ll find Robard at the constabulary,” I said. “Onward.”
We cantered down the rise and into the village. The few people on the streets paid us little mind, and we stopped and dismounted outside a small inn about fifty yards away from the jail. Sure enough, Robard’s horse was tied to a hitching post right outside the building.
“How many bailiffs does the Shire Reeve have available to him, Will?” I asked.
“I don’t rightly know, lad. ’Tis many more of ’em than us,” he said. “I expect with times as hard as they are, a lot of men are signin’ on, working for food and board.”
Another ideal situation, I thought. We were outnumbered and I was in unfamiliar territory. Straightening my tunic, I reached into my satchel, removing Sir Thomas’ ring and slipping it onto my finger. I stomped what mud I could from my boots and pulled my sword forward on my belt, trying to make myself presentable.
“What are you going to do?” Maryam asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “You wait here. Try to draw as little attention as possible. Little John, if you would, position the men across the street from the jail and keep a sharp eye. Will, it’s best if you and your men look disinterested. Don’t string any bows or nock any arrows yet, but be ready. Robard has probably been thrown in jail already, and I’m going to have to get him out-one way or another. Maryam, you stay with John and watch the door. If I’m not out in a reasonable amount of time, the two of you had best enter the constabulary and. . help. Come on, Angel,” I said. She sat up and, although tired from her long and vigorous trek, eagerly loped along beside me.
Walking down the street, I attempted to appear important and determined, in case anyone was observing my approach. The front door of the constabulary was unguarded, and I entered without knocking. Inside I found a dim room, with meager light coming from two windows on either side of the door. The walls held oil lamps, but the plank wood floor and lack of any furniture or decorations gave the room a dismal, fearful quality.
“Hello!” I shouted out.
A hallway led away from the main room, and the sound of footsteps echoed on the wooden floor. A few seconds later, a tall, thin man entered. He was splendidly dressed, with a purple velvet tunic, immaculate white leggings and a dark red cape draped around his shoulders. His eyes were ice blue, and his beard was neatly trimmed and flecked with gray. It was hard to guess his age, but he had the appearance of confidence. If this was the Shire Reeve, he would not be easily persuaded.
He stared at me in total disdain but did not speak.
“I seek the Shire Reeve of Nottingham,” I said.
“You have found him,” he said.
“Ah, thank you, sire,” I said. “I’m Tristan of St. Alban’s of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and King Solomon’s Temple and I-”
“You’re a Knight of the Temple?” he sneered, hardly believing me. Angel, sitting at my side, let out a low growl. I shushed her, and he glanced down and blanched, as if I’d committed a mortal sin by bringing a dog into his constabulary.
“Oh no, sire, not a knight, certainly. I’m a squire, actually, but I’ve been sent here on a matter of utmost urgency to the Order. I’m in pursuit of a man,” I said, spinning my web.
“And how does this concern me?” he asked.
“Well, sire, his name is Robard Hode, of Sherwood Forest. He has recently returned home from distinguished service in the Crusades and. . may I have your name, sire?” I asked.
The man sniffed. “My name is William Wendenal. And your Robard Hode arrived here but a short while ago, making many wild accusations. He was subdued by my bailiffs and now resides in my jail. I hardly believe such a ruffian would be of any interest to the Order.”
“I understand, sire, I rightly do. And from what I’ve heard he is a hot-tempered sort. But there’s Order business involving Master Hode I must see to. I’ve a letter here from my knight, Sir Thomas Leux. It asks anyone whom I encounter for their assistance, with the thanks and praise of the Templar Knights.” I removed Sir Thomas’ letter from my satchel, hoping the oilskin had preserved it well enough that it was still readable. Why hadn’t I checked it before I came in? But there was no time now. I handed it to Wendenal with Sir Thomas’ ring showing on my finger. I sincerely hoped it would be enough to convince him I was a legitimate servante of the Order.
It was not.
“Do you take me for a fool, boy?” he sneered, shoving the parchment back at me without even reading it.
“I assure you, sire, I do not,” I replied with as much earnestness as I could muster.
“Good. Then you will understand perfectly well when I tell you I have no intention of releasing my prisoner to you.” He thrust Sir Thomas’ letter into my hand.
“That is most unfortunate, sire. What can I do to convince you of the seriousness of this matter?” I pleaded.
“Nothing. Now, take your dog and leave or I shall have my bailiffs escort you out.”
With a heavy sigh, I rolled up Sir Thomas’ parchment letter and returned it to the satchel.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sire,” I said. “However, if I may have one more moment of your time.” The Shire Reeve already had turned his back to me. When he looked over his shoulder, his eyes flew open wide at the sight of my sword mere inches from his neck.
“What is the meaning of this!” he demanded.
“I’m afraid I must insist you take me to the prisoner at once.”