bard, perhaps, was not necessary, for Annie had a good ear for tales and retold them with theatrical grace. But a hiring I must make, indeed, if I wished to keep abreast of what passed in the London court. I would be wed again, this was certain, but I would be powerless in the contract if I had no foreknowledge of the event.
Consequently, not long after my return I charged Annie to go forth and seek from her peers an unusual man. The man I sought would be like no other, crafty and independent, clever in the ways of the world but sharp enough to be able to hide away his own comprehension. It took her time and many a bribe of an apple tart laced with barley sugar, but when the west wind blew the scent of October ale, he came at last.
His name was Clym o’ the Tower, in reference, I supposed, to time he had spent imprisoned for crimes against the crown. I questioned him closely in hesitant Saxon and found his misdeeds to have been of the sort that could not hurt me—poaching the king’s deer and a score of fresh trout from out of a Needwood forest glen.
Clym was a dark man of ordinary looks, but some quirks of his manner made me smile. He wore a cap of red felt, and this he twisted in his hands as Aladdin might have rubbed his lamp, wishing for his magic genie. Clym had eyes that danced with light, and he took pains to make Annie laugh with his ribald humor and silly jests. He seemed uncertain what to make of me, a young widow employing him to spy at court, but he understood the value of steady pay and did not question my motives.
“What I want in particular to know, Master Clym,” I said, offering him a place near the fire, “is anything which relates to me, Marian Fitzwater of Denby, or to my lands. In addition, if you hear any mention of Lady Pernelle of Sencaster, Stephen of Sencaster, or Sir Thomas Lanois, please bring it forward.” Now that my suspicions of Lady Pernelle had grown, her close connection to my regent had not been lost upon me. Sir Thomas, I was certain, would do what he could to retain his position as regent of Denby, and he needed watching with a careful eye. I’d not forgotten his boldfaced lies, and while a light falsehood could be forgiven in myself, in my regent it was a damning flaw.
Clym repeated these names back to me as proof of his steady memory; then he spoke. “Ye needn’t worry about me skills in this topic, m’lady. Ole Clym has many a trick in his pocket for just such a case, I assure ye. If I canna find placement in the kitchens or stables, I’ll make friends of the jester or the clerk. There’s many a man in the Westminster court who likes a drink of sack or Malmsey, and ’tis no hardship to find them out. I myself am a decorated prize winner at the holding of me own liquor, so ye needn’t fear lest I’ll forget what I hear. An’ ifn I see that any one of them suspects me, I can change me getup and garb so fast they’ll think ole Clym had died in his sleep and only new George popped up in his place.”
“Are you, then, a master of disguise like the outlaw Robin Hood?”
“Nay, not like him, not even I. Robin Hood’s the greatest of men, and I only one of the least. But I have the knack, as he does too, of makin’ meself appear other than I be. ’Tis not so hard for one such as I, of normal height and average hair, with no distinctive marks about me.”
“That skill must have served you well when you too were outlawed and hunted by the king’s guard.”
“Aye, it served me for a time, it did. But I was turned in by one of me own kind, I was, sad to say. The cruel outlaw of Needwood is no great man like Robin Hood. Guy of Gisborne is a wretched creature who’d slice his own mother for a gold coin. He rules our woods and not much kindly, for ifn he takes a dislike of you, he’ll whisper it loud to the king’s guards and off you go to London Tower.”
“But how may this Guy of Gisborne alert the guards when he himself is an outlaw?”
“Aw, he does ’em
Consequently, not long after my return I charged Annie to go forth and seek from her peers an unusual man. The man I sought would be like no other, crafty and independent, clever in the ways of the world but sharp enough to be able to hide away his own comprehension. It took her time and many a bribe of an apple tart laced with barley sugar, but when the west wind blew the scent of October ale, he came at last.
His name was Clym o’ the Tower, in reference, I supposed, to time he had spent imprisoned for crimes against the crown. I questioned him closely in hesitant Saxon and found his misdeeds to have been of the sort that could not hurt me—poaching the king’s deer and a score of fresh trout from out of a Needwood forest glen.
Clym was a dark man of ordinary looks, but some quirks of his manner made me smile. He wore a cap of red felt, and this he twisted in his hands as Aladdin might have rubbed his lamp, wishing for his magic genie. Clym had eyes that danced with light, and he took pains to make Annie laugh with his ribald humor and silly jests. He seemed uncertain what to make of me, a young widow employing him to spy at court, but he understood the value of steady pay and did not question my motives.
“What I want in particular to know, Master Clym,” I said, offering him a place near the fire, “is anything which relates to me, Marian Fitzwater of Denby, or to my lands. In addition, if you hear any mention of Lady Pernelle of Sencaster, Stephen of Sencaster, or Sir Thomas Lanois, please bring it forward.” Now that my suspicions of Lady Pernelle had grown, her close connection to my regent had not been lost upon me. Sir Thomas, I was certain, would do what he could to retain his position as regent of Denby, and he needed watching with a careful eye. I’d not forgotten his boldfaced lies, and while a light falsehood could be forgiven in myself, in my regent it was a damning flaw.
Clym repeated these names back to me as proof of his steady memory; then he spoke. “Ye needn’t worry about me skills in this topic, m’lady. Ole Clym has many a trick in his pocket for just such a case, I assure ye. If I canna find placement in the kitchens or stables, I’ll make friends of the jester or the clerk. There’s many a man in the Westminster court who likes a drink of sack or Malmsey, and ’tis no hardship to find them out. I myself am a decorated prize winner at the holding of me own liquor, so ye needn’t fear lest I’ll forget what I hear. An’ ifn I see that any one of them suspects me, I can change me getup and garb so fast they’ll think ole Clym had died in his sleep and only new George popped up in his place.”
“Are you, then, a master of disguise like the outlaw Robin Hood?”
“Nay, not like him, not even I. Robin Hood’s the greatest of men, and I only one of the least. But I have the knack, as he does too, of makin’ meself appear other than I be. ’Tis not so hard for one such as I, of normal height and average hair, with no distinctive marks about me.”
“That skill must have served you well when you too were outlawed and hunted by the king’s guard.”
“Aye, it served me for a time, it did. But I was turned in by one of me own kind, I was, sad to say. The cruel outlaw of Needwood is no great man like Robin Hood. Guy of Gisborne is a wretched creature who’d slice his own mother for a gold coin. He rules our woods and not much kindly, for ifn he takes a dislike of you, he’ll whisper it loud to the king’s guards and off you go to London Tower.”
“But how may this Guy of Gisborne alert the guards when he himself is an outlaw?”
“Aw, he does ’em
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