running to keep up.
‘To the tower, of course. We can’t leave empty-handed. We’ll need cured meat for the road, and spare clothing, and we’ll take a few things to trade or sell. We’ll pack light, travel fast, but at the very least we’ll need—’
She stopped and stared. She pointed. Something was happening, down there on Packman’s Furrow. One of the wagons had cracked an axle on the sun-baked road, had toppled into a ditch, sending trunks and chests tumbling, spilling their contents. And it was those contents that made Marian and Robin stare: countless tiny things, glittering in the dusk.
‘Are those coins?’ Robin said.
‘Whole cartloads of them, by the looks of it. And those bigger objects, silver and brass plate, see? Wherever he’s been, he’s brought back a king’s ransom.’
They ran on, darting up the blind side of Lord’s Hill, out of sight of the retinue. They reached their elm tree and climbed up onto the crumbled battlement. The normally hushed manor was busy and loud, wagons and carts being unloaded. The thump of trunks and baskets and the rumble of barrels and people shouting, all of it echoing off the curtain walls. Hanging lamps were being lit as the twilight faded.
Most of the activity clustered around the Great Ward. For now their path to the tower looked clear. Marian moved forward, about to break cover. Robin touched her arm – she froze. A postern gate had slammed open and there was movement in the shadows.
‘… believe me, he’s going to do it,’ a voice said below. ‘Tonight, maybe. But soon, for sure. None of them are biting.’
Another man coughed, cleared his throat. ‘He won’t. He wouldn’t go that far. He’s bluffing.’
‘I’m telling you. You weren’t with him. You’ve never seen a man so desperate. Or so frightened.’
Robin peered through the branches. Two men were walking past at the foot of the wall. One had a heavy limp and was built like an aurochs: Gerad Blunt, the Castellan. The second voicebelonged to a smaller man, with sandy brown hair, who Robin couldn’t name.
‘What, you think he’ll stand up to him on his own?’ said the unknown man. ‘The crow facing down the wolf? Remind me to be far away from here if it comes to that.’
‘No argument, he’s in a corner,’ said the Castellan. ‘But even Delbosque wouldn’t … his own daughter …’
‘… I’m telling you … know what they say … the winter-born …’
‘… those damned words, makes no difference …
‘… will be worse … what’s more …’
‘… refuse …’
‘… ’course you will …’
The words became harder to hear as the speakers moved away. A door slammed and the two men disappeared into a guard tower.
Robin’s heart sounded loud in his ears. A sickly feeling churning in his stomach. Something he had heard … a phrase one of the men had used … he could barely even hear them and yet … something dark had stirred in his memory …
‘Come on,’ Marian said. ‘They’re gone.’
‘Wait, Marian, I—’
But she had already slipped over the side of the wall, was scampering to the ground. Robin followed.
She drew ahead, moving in a half-crouch, running a wide arc around the iron-studded doors of the sacristy. She turned left past the bakehouse. For a moment Robin lost her from view and so he didn’t see it happen.
He only heard a screech and a scream, and then shouting.
‘Leggo geddoff lemeego!’
Robin ran. He leaped up onto a hay trough and from there onto the roof of the bakehouse.
He looked down and saw what was happening. It wasMistress Bawg. Over the years she had grown steadily more massive, and now she was a mountain of flesh. In one hand she held a drinking bladder; in the other she gripped Marian, twisting her arm behind her back, hauling her away across the East Ward.
‘Now now, Lady Marian, quiet down,’ Mistress Bawg was saying as Marian howled. ‘You’ve had a good run. You could hardly go on living that wild
‘To the tower, of course. We can’t leave empty-handed. We’ll need cured meat for the road, and spare clothing, and we’ll take a few things to trade or sell. We’ll pack light, travel fast, but at the very least we’ll need—’
She stopped and stared. She pointed. Something was happening, down there on Packman’s Furrow. One of the wagons had cracked an axle on the sun-baked road, had toppled into a ditch, sending trunks and chests tumbling, spilling their contents. And it was those contents that made Marian and Robin stare: countless tiny things, glittering in the dusk.
‘Are those coins?’ Robin said.
‘Whole cartloads of them, by the looks of it. And those bigger objects, silver and brass plate, see? Wherever he’s been, he’s brought back a king’s ransom.’
They ran on, darting up the blind side of Lord’s Hill, out of sight of the retinue. They reached their elm tree and climbed up onto the crumbled battlement. The normally hushed manor was busy and loud, wagons and carts being unloaded. The thump of trunks and baskets and the rumble of barrels and people shouting, all of it echoing off the curtain walls. Hanging lamps were being lit as the twilight faded.
Most of the activity clustered around the Great Ward. For now their path to the tower looked clear. Marian moved forward, about to break cover. Robin touched her arm – she froze. A postern gate had slammed open and there was movement in the shadows.
‘… believe me, he’s going to do it,’ a voice said below. ‘Tonight, maybe. But soon, for sure. None of them are biting.’
Another man coughed, cleared his throat. ‘He won’t. He wouldn’t go that far. He’s bluffing.’
‘I’m telling you. You weren’t with him. You’ve never seen a man so desperate. Or so frightened.’
Robin peered through the branches. Two men were walking past at the foot of the wall. One had a heavy limp and was built like an aurochs: Gerad Blunt, the Castellan. The second voicebelonged to a smaller man, with sandy brown hair, who Robin couldn’t name.
‘What, you think he’ll stand up to him on his own?’ said the unknown man. ‘The crow facing down the wolf? Remind me to be far away from here if it comes to that.’
‘No argument, he’s in a corner,’ said the Castellan. ‘But even Delbosque wouldn’t … his own daughter …’
‘… I’m telling you … know what they say … the winter-born …’
‘… those damned words, makes no difference …
‘… will be worse … what’s more …’
‘… refuse …’
‘… ’course you will …’
The words became harder to hear as the speakers moved away. A door slammed and the two men disappeared into a guard tower.
Robin’s heart sounded loud in his ears. A sickly feeling churning in his stomach. Something he had heard … a phrase one of the men had used … he could barely even hear them and yet … something dark had stirred in his memory …
‘Come on,’ Marian said. ‘They’re gone.’
‘Wait, Marian, I—’
But she had already slipped over the side of the wall, was scampering to the ground. Robin followed.
She drew ahead, moving in a half-crouch, running a wide arc around the iron-studded doors of the sacristy. She turned left past the bakehouse. For a moment Robin lost her from view and so he didn’t see it happen.
He only heard a screech and a scream, and then shouting.
‘Leggo geddoff lemeego!’
Robin ran. He leaped up onto a hay trough and from there onto the roof of the bakehouse.
He looked down and saw what was happening. It wasMistress Bawg. Over the years she had grown steadily more massive, and now she was a mountain of flesh. In one hand she held a drinking bladder; in the other she gripped Marian, twisting her arm behind her back, hauling her away across the East Ward.
‘Now now, Lady Marian, quiet down,’ Mistress Bawg was saying as Marian howled. ‘You’ve had a good run. You could hardly go on living that wild
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