Honi Soit Qui Mal's Tight Pants (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} executrix) wrote,@ 2008-11-07 00:03:00 |
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Firefly fic: THE OXCART JOB Part 2 of 2
12,199 words! I'm just sayin'.
18
Queen Eleanor waved her hand to dismiss the servants, so she could speak privately to the crude yet somehow distinguished man, the obvious leader of the oddly dressed party of strangers.
"You are sojourners here, but perhaps you have heard that the King my son has gone on Crusade," she said.
:"Aye, your Grace," Mal said, hoping that was obsequious enough at least not to get his head axed off. That trip to the marketplace was full of local knowledge.
:"But what you know not is that he has been captured, not by our heathen foe, but by a Christian prince who holds him to ransom. It fell hard upon me, but I ransacked the revenues of my lands to raise the money, and a cart is loaded and ready to travel to Duke Friedrich's realm. But I have heard—none recks what a servant maid may hear, or what she might tell one who will give ear to her tale—that the Sheriff of Nottingham and his familiar, Gisbourne, wish to lengthen my son's imprisonment."
Mal opened his mouth to say, "Yeah, I heard your younger boy wants to keep his butt in the malmsey a mite longer, but you ain't got nothin' to worry about, one way or 'tother one of your boys gets to keep the brass ring less'n you try to take it back for yourself," but said, "Can such things be?"
"Master Reynolds, I hear you are but a simple merchant, one who has never visited this planet before and seeks for trading opportunities." (Eleanor remembered that the young sibyl had pointed out that 'mechant' meant 'bad' in the French-that was.)
"Yes, ma'am, that's me."
"Alack a day," the Queen said. "For I am greatly in need of succor, and would reward the man who took up my cause."
"There's a lot more to bein' a merchant than the job description might tell ya," Mal said.
"I have ordered the money taken from my treasury and sent to the Duke Friedrich. But the caitiff Sheriff's complot is that he will steal the money, add to it some five thousand nobles of his own, and thereby persuade the Duke to extend my son's captivity. Were somehow this foul treason were to be thwarted…say, if the Duke were to receive the original ransom, and some part of the additional five thousand nobles, then mayhap a brave man might take his reward as some portion of the…of the wages of sin."
"Your Majesty, you’re my kind of stupid," Mal said.
Eleanor extended her hand. "You may kiss my hand." And Mal did, figuring that he knew an invitation when he saw one. Although if he was wrong, and he came on strong, he was like to get his head chopped off like a rooster an hour before Sunday dinner. And if he was right, and hung back, probably more of the same. Unless it wasn't his head chopped off.
She had to have been older than his Mamma would have been, which gave him an uncomfortableness, and obviously she hadn't had anything but beeswax and carmine to stave off or paint over the ravages of age, and it was the kind of place where the rich folk had perfume more'n' they had soap.
"Don't worry, I can make it back to the campsite on my own," River said. Mal didn't want to tangle with Simon about letting her out unsupervised (although she'd somehow managed to get there, a point he could raise to Simon if need be). But he really didn't want to leave.
In the firelight, Queen Eleanor's unloosed hair gleamed gold in places. Elsewhere, silver was precious enough. Her skin was no longer taut, but that only meant that its velvet had been found.
19
On her next wave, Zoe looked hesitant (although she also looked glowingly healthy and rested). "You remember Kel Hoopenberg, from the Ought-Niners?"
"Aww, Yesooa, don't tell me you gotta go to his funeral."
"No, not at all. He's fine. Runs a vaudeville theater. Thing is, the goose juggler took sick, and they got a coach party comin' in from Poston's Crick. The Kelster says that he'll pay Wash five hundred credits for a three-night stand. Also, there's a miniature golf course out back of the theater, and you know how much Wash loves miniature golf."
"I do?" said Mal. "I mean, yeah, hang in there a titch more if you gotta."
"You be all right down there, without a job?"
"Hey, turns out we got a job," Mal said. "Could be a fine one. But we got it covered, don't need no more fire power."
20
"Hell, Mal, I got my you-know-what," Jayne said, humming "The hero of Sherwood—the man they call Me" under his breath. "Simon give it back to me."
"Well, of course you've got your you-know-what, and I'm damn sick of hearin' you braggin' on it, and how Simon got ahold of it I surely don't want to know."
Jayne gave him a patented look of disgust, licensed from River.
"Oh," Mal said. "THAT you-know-what. Naw, I think we'll do just fine with knives and rocks and such, maybe the odd arrow here and there. Okay, Queen Eleanor's sent her cart full o' money out where the Sheriff's fellas are gonna grab it, add in some extra for the Duke so's he'll sing their tune, and we're gonna grab it back and hand it over to the Duke so Queen Eleanor gets her boy back."
"It's not as if there were a twelve-lane superhighway…" Simon said.
"Yeah," Jayne said. "What Doc means to say is, there ain't but one road. Even if we don't go back to the ship and get the mule…"
"Best not, attract too much of the wrong kind of attention," Mal said, even without the simultaneous Simon-to-English translation.
"Won't strain us too much to get ahead of 'em on the road, get the jump on 'em, and give that money back to that cougar o'yours."
"Hey!" Mal said.
"Your royal cougar then."
Simon unclipped the powerful flashlight from his pocketknife and shone the bright, tightly focused beam on the ground. "I think we could relax the technology ban a little bit…stake out the road, but where we think they'll make camp for the night. When they're asleep, with the flashlights and perhaps one laser lantern, I can anesthetize them with some of the portables in my field kit. Then we can tie them up, and by the time they wake up, we'll be long gone."
"How're we gonna carry all that stuff? Eight-five thousand nobles and angels and shit, that's gotta be a crapload of gold…oh, hey, wait. Yeah." Jayne said.
"It'll be dark," Simon said. "I don't think the ox will be able to ID us."
21
"I've been thinking," Sir Guy said.
"No sentence that you begin that way can ever end well," the Sheriff said, setting up the chessboard.
"The people hate me," Sir Guy said.
"Oh, is that all? I thought you had a real problem. Have one of your servitors bring me up a cup of burnt wine and a roast fowl."
"It's Friday!" Sir Guy said, falling back and crossing himself in shock.
"Yes, I'm sure that your abstinence from roast flesh of beasts will be the most important item in your compt on Judgment Day."
"That's what I've been worrying about. I mean, what's going to happen to me after I, well, leave Marian and our children. What about needle's eyes? But don't we have to render camels unto Caesar? The Saxons are poor, and yet we use our warrant of authority to rob them."
"It's a volume business," the Sheriff said. "Broad-based."
"Doesn't it make sense to rob the rich?"
"First of all, they are far better defended than the caitiff wretches you refer to. Secondly, we're rich, and we hardly are well-served by giving forth the idea that wealth is there to be seized by anyone with a strong arm."
"There's that, too. This Robert person. Robin Hood they clepe him. I drive him to outlawry, and he finds allies to assist him. Half the time when I send out a tax collector, the fellow returns empty-handed and with the marks of a quarterstaff on his person."
"Knight takes Bishop," the Sheriff said, suiting the deed to the word. {{Mother of God}} he thought. {{Am I to do nothing but instruct blockheads how to perform simple robberies?}} "Let's kill two birds with one poniard, shall we? Soon it will be bruited about that Robin Hood has robbed and murdered the Bishop of Durham."
"Well, it's true that I hate him with a deathly enmity," Sir Guy said, "But in some ways Robin Hood isn't a bad chap, I don't think he'd rob a prelate of Holy Church. And even if he would, how would be know in advance so we could get any good out of it?"
{{Can't get good help these days}} sighed the Sheriff. "All the world knows where the Lord Bishop journeys," he said. "He is accompanied but by his secretary and one servingman. Send a bravo or two. The servingman will flee when he sees cold steel."
"You can't really expect him to risk his life for us, when all we do is tax him and his like and steal their crops," Sir Guy said thoughtfully.
The Sheriff cleared his throat. "Have your man kill the Bishop, steal whatever comes within his reach, and let the secretary think that he has escaped by his own valor or God's grace. But before he runs to save his skin, be sure that the secretary hears the robber say that he is one of Robin's band. And when word of this shameful sin is nosed about, then those who love Robin Hood now will despise him instead."
22
Marian picked through the dish, although at a two-star hostelry like The Green Man the choices were limited to chopped dates and walnuts cemented with honey, or more dates/walnuts/honey. She had the best room at the inn, and her uncle the second-best, but it was a humble village alehouse, and its store of the exotic ingredients brought back by Crusaders was small. "I know not which way to turn," she said to her new friend.
"What's the problem?" Kaylee asked, looking down into the pitcher and shaking it. Nope, no more mead.
"Ye wot, that I am betrothed to Sir Guy of Gisbourne, yet he frightens and disgusts me. The coldness of his tiny eyes…"
"Yeah," Kaylee said sympathetically. "You can put lipstick…uh, unguent…on a pig and it's still a pig…"
"Praise be to Holy Church, there is many a festival when no nuptials can be celebrated, and many a fast day when no man may claim his wife's marriage debt. But it can't be put off forever."
"This ain't the kind of planet where they let you marry two fellas at once, is it?"
Marian, shocked, shook her head.
"Then it's pie. You an' Robin go up to our Shepherd, ah, our Friar Book. He says a few words at ya, you're married to him, and you can't marry the other fella." {{At least until the one you don't like makes a widow out of you, puts you back in play}} she thought.
"But…but…it is my uncle's will that I marry Gisbourne. Uncle Walter has always stood in the place of a father. He thinks that uniting my Saxon blood to Gisbourne's Norman blood will not only help keep the peace, but will create a new and stronger race. "
Kaylee thought that was the kind of horse hockey that put Earth That Was on the Disabled List, but she held her tongue until Marian said, "And Uncle Walter is a man, with a man's wisdom, and I but a simple maiden. It is not our way to allow mere girls to seal their own fate."
"This is a dumb planet," Kaylee said.
"And, how could I marry an outlaw? And yet, after tonight, how can I ever marry anyone? The Sheriff…. Kaylee, you must tell no one," Marian said.
:"Silent as the grave," Kaylee mumbled, her lips sealed by a sweetmeat.
"The Sheriff sent a henchman to tell me that unless he takes me as his leman, he will kill my true love, Robert of Huntington. I must come to him tonight, he says."
"Well, he was gonna kill him anyway, according to what I heard," Kaylee said. "So he ain't got much to hold over your head."
"But if he gives Robin up to be drawn and quartered as a traitor, not merely to die a chivalrous death in a duel…"
"Now, that I can help you with," Kaylee said. "I'm, well, kinda bigger than you are, but that don't matter so much with the stuff you guys wear…" She opened the lid of the chest where Marian stored her wardrobe. Marian began to protest that this was no time to play dress-up, and no wise would she dress herself in Kaylee's immodest garments even in the privacy of her own chamber, until light dawned in her eyes.
23
Prince John squinted in the twilight. His heart raced when he recognized the magnificent white palfrey, and it stuttered when he saw the graceful figure of the rider. "Leave me," he told the knights in his escort. He spurred his horse, catching up with Inara.
"Lady," he said. "Know you who I am?"
Inara cast down her eyes and adjusted her veil more becomingly. "Yes, Your Grace…you are the Prince John, King Richard's younger brother."
"Aye," he said. "And by my blood royal, and by the strength of mine own arm and will, I always obtain that which I desire, no matter who seeks to check me. Tonight I lie at Huntington Castle. I have gold, and jewels, to the value of many marks, and I am inflamed by your beauty. Will you lie with me tonight?"
"Aye, my lord," Inara said demurely. The Prince was fairly young, and he wasn't bad-looking. He was a brat, of course, but most of her clients were. They didn't even have the excuse of the pressure of a diadem to cause their swelled heads. Inara was glad that what once had seemed like unprofitable downtime now seemed to furnish a lucrative engagement, and one that would add luster to her resume. Although Companions did not kiss and tell, somehow or other the fact that a royal prince had enjoyed her favors would not remain entirely unknown.
"I have my own steambath, you know," the Prince said, to his own inexpressible satisfaction. "It folds up."
"I'm sure it must be magnificent, my liege," Inara said. This, too, was an agreeable surprise. Inara felt reasonably clean, given the numerous icy streams to bathe in, but subtracting the iciness factor would be pleasant.
24
"Ah, Lady Marian," the Sheriff gloated in his gloomy chamber. "You have come to me."
"Didn't give me much of a choice, did you?" Kaylee asked.
"Will you take wine?" She didn't look quite as he remembered, but it was dark, and anyway he distinguished one girl from another largely by point value. Ravishing the noble Saxon maiden who was the betrothed of his familiar and the ladylove of his enemy would put him streets ahead of any of his co-conspirators.
"Sure," Kaylee said. "You got the kind with spices in?"
The Sheriff was unable to contain his impatience for more than half a cup of wine, and he clashed the goblet down on the table, grabbed Kaylee, and kissed her as if he expected her to be wearing a magical ring. He let her go for a moment, looking pleased with himself. Then he pointed in the direction of the bed. Kaylee shrugged, sat down on the bed, reached underneath Marian's borrowed dress, and unlaced her boots. The Sheriff squinted. He didn't think he had ever seen boots like that before, and he made a note to ask about them later.
He threw himself across her body, his hand stalling on the velvet of Marian's second-best dress as he tried to find the hem of the dress. His arm wasn't long enough, so he tried to stuff his other hand down the neck of the dress, but this time was frustrated by Kaylee's greater amplitude.
"Hey, hey, where's the fire?" Kaylee asked. Confused, the Sheriff gestured toward the vast chimney. "No, I mean, what's the hurry? There's two of us to get pleased, y'know."
The Sheriff furrowed his brow. He had heard many sermons about the insatiable lusts of women, but assumed that it was an invention of clerics short of material. "Let me clearly ascertain your meaning. Your implication is that there is some sense in which this act of darkness could be acceptable to you, or even enjoyable?"
"Somethin' must have messed with your self-esteem somethin' awful. I mean, puttin' a gun to her head—or someone else's—ain't the way to make girls like you, but you'd do fine if you went about it a little nicer. You got most of your teeth, and you don't smell so bad," Kaylee said encouragingly.
"That's down to Prince John," said the Sheriff, who had understood only a small part of Kaylee's speech but was not about to admit that. "He's very proud of his steambath."
25
Sir Guy of Gisbourne looked around at the malodorous crowd of peasants gathered for the great Sheep Fair and Butter Market. At the moment, they were in a good mood, but that could change in a moment. Gisbourne was escorted by a dozen men-at-arms in steel hauberks, but they—and he--could be ripped to pieces by a truly spirited crowd.
Sir Guy decided that a prudent show of force could save a lot of future difficulties. So he had the biggest longbow in town brought to him. He quickly nocked five arrows on the bowstring, fired them off, and nodded and waved at the cheering crowd as all five arrows thudded into the center rings of the target.
{{I'll bet the Sheriff couldn't do that}} Sir Guy comforted himself, wondering why the Sheriff was not present. {{And he's always saying I'd be lost without him.}}
("Wait, you mean…in the daytime?" the Sheriff was saying just about then. "Sure, why not?" Kaylee said. "More fun if you can see what you're doin'.")
And then Sir Guy had an idea. He unhooked the purse of silver coins from his belt and held it up. "If any man here can draw this mighty bow and put five arrows into the target from where I stand, he may claim this purse of silver."
There was a roar of applause, and then a hubbub in the crowd. The bow was lifted from Sir Guy's grasp and carried twenty yards further back. Then a laugh swept the crowd, and Sir Guy gathered that it was at his expense. He scowled, and realized it would be a good idea to step aside.
So fast that the twang of the bow blurred into a single whine, four arrows formed a precise square around his best shot. The fifth arrow split his own and homed into the center of the bull's eye.
"Oh, all right," Sir Guy said ungraciously, throwing down the purse of silver and stalking off surrounded as tightly by his armed guards as his best arrow was surrounded by the upstart's. The purse was soon taken up and thrown to the youth who rode on the shoulders of the jubilant peasantry.
Sir Guy was glad that the Sheriff wasn't there. He knew he'd never hear the end of it.
26
"How was the fair?" Mal asked, suppressing a yawn. Just because he was a lot younger than Queen Eleanor didn't mean he was as young as he used to be.
"Only the brave deserved it," Simon said, tightening the arm around River's shoulders. "Is Kaylee all right? I thought she'd be at the fair, it's the kind of thing she enjoys, but I didn't see her." At first Simon thought about contributing the purse of silver to Serenity's common exchequer. Then he decided that certain incidents involving, e.g., inaccurate reports of a patient's condition and a space suit, relieved him of the obligation of candor.
"Kaylee's fine," Mal said. Jayne guffawed. "Oh!" Simon said.
27
That night, the oxcart interception went as planned. Mal had the most experience with livestock, so he took the first shift of heading the cart toward the meeting place appointed for the delivery of the ransom, as Simon held the flashlight and tried to figure out how to manage the cart and team. Jayne napped until it was time to rotate the shifts.
At dawn, the initial set of thieves woke up, shook their aching heads, and ascertained that the laden oxcart had not been bewitched into invisibility. On that note, they decided that it would be soul-saving, or at least practical, to head for the Holy Land before the Sheriff found out that the stolen money had been whisked away right under their noses.
28
Queen Eleanor, accompanied by her lady-in-waiting Marian and other persons fit for a royal court, arrived first, having set out in a convoy of litters the afternoon before Mal carried out her mission. She had a touching reunion with her not terribly grateful son (if he couldn't be off crusading, he didn't particularly want to be dragged home to deal with a lot of boring parchments and squabbling nobles). The Queen assured Duke Friedrich that the ransom would be there within the hour.
After she had repeated the assurance three times, the oxen, resentful at Jayne's treatment, lumbered into view. The cart was followed shortly by a magnificent, but currently winded, black stallion with Prince John flattened down on the horse's neck.
"I see I'm just I time," the Prince said.
"What do you want?" King Richard snarled.
"Look, don't give him back," said Prince John. "Keep him."
"Your lady mother has paid me this cartful of money for his release," Duke Friedrich said. "How much more can you offer, and when will it arrive?
"Well, I haven't got the money as such with me, but if you hang on to him long enough for me to seize control of the treasury then I'll send someone back with…with…a hundred thousand nobles! And a chest of jewels!"
"When the market is fine fat bullocks or warlike kings, then we sell for cash only and trust not to promises. Queen Eleanor, take your son. You have won the day, for you were the only knight truly armored."
"You can keep the cart, sirrah Duke," Queen Eleanor said. "Captain Reynolds, will you have your servant drive the oxen back to my court? It's time to start thinking about the fall slaughter."
"Uh, how're we gonna get back?" Mal asked, wishing that he'd found some way to bring the mule without attracting suspicion. "The other two, your Majesty, I mean."
"You may ride with me in the litter. Your handsome squire may have the loan of a horse. Or perhaps the gift of it, for his part in this noble deed."
29
Without warning, Prince John pulled his sword from the scabbard and, lowering his head, charged gracelessly at his brother. Startled, King Richard reached for his own sword. A heartbeat later, his recent captor returned it to him, and the steel of the blades rang out as they clashed. They both tried to advance at the same time, and this time, their bodies crashed together, too close for swordplay. They sprang apart, and crossed swords again, high overhead.
"A brother's murder?" Book intoned, stepping between the two of them. "It has the primal eldest curse on it. Cain was doomed forever to be a wanderer because of that blood on his hands."
Richard dropped back a pace, unwilling to harm a priest.
The prince felt no such compunction, and he charged again, dragging the edge of his sword down his brother's ribs. A long pennon of blood stained the king's green-blue tunic embroidered with gold lions.
"Stand away, caitiff priest," Prince John said. "You are not good enough to die by the sword stained with kingly blood." So he drew the dagger from his belt . Then, startled, he dropped it, assailed by the grinding pain in his left wrist (seized in the Shepherd's iron grip) and what seemed to be the sting of the 'Verse's largest hornet, behind and below.
Nearby, up a tree, River surveyed her handiwork with pleasure. She hadn't used the sharpest arrow in the quiver, but then Prince John wasn't either.
30
It is very much to be regretted that when the Duke hitched his own oxen to the cart filled with the barrels of money for the ransom and had them hauled up to his castle keep, that quite a few of the barrels held coins to the depth that a man's wrist might sink, but were otherwise filled with, depending on who had handled the barrel last, tree branches cut small, scrap iron, or rusty nails.
The Duke consoled himself that even a rusty nail would fetch a groat, and a sound one a silver penny. In any event, it wasn't as though he had much of an investment in Richard, so whatever he realized on the deal (less a few venison pasties and treen goblets of ale) was pure profit.
31
There didn't seem to be anyone in the chamber or in the hallway, so Simon risked switching on his flashlight, cupping his palm over the bulb in case he was wrong. Yes, the patient seemed to be responding well to the relaxant, and the bandage was still clean so the wound repair probably had gone well. There hadn't been any gloves available, of course, or even soap and water, so he did the best he could, pouring a cup of wine over his hands and drying them with a very suspicious looking linen towel. Then he used a cleaning towelette from his field kit, sutured the wound, sprinkled it with antibiotic powder, and bandaged it.
Occasionally he touched his patient's forehead gently (he didn't appear feverish), counted his breaths, took his pulse. Then he sat, watching the rushlight play over the sleeping king's features, their fingers intertwined.
{{It's completely unethical}} Simon thought. {{I could get struck off the register for something like this. Of course I already have been struck off the register…And. Well. I mean, he's the King, and while it can't really be counted as a personal accomplishment, well, it's hard not to be impressed…}}
A few months later, Jayne went through Simon's stuff (which he did every once in a while, just to keep his hand in, but only when he was really bored because naturally it was usually just the same crap as last time). He found a ring, set with one of those old-fashioned dirty diamonds, the kind that looks like they cut it by bashing a coupla rocks together.
32
Richard, called Lionheart, stretched his arm out but was not surprised to find himself alone in bed. Not entirely alone; a page had come to bring in a shank of boar and a pitcher of spiced wine and a few manchets, and a servant had come to empty the slops and a squire had come to help him dress for the day.
It wasn't the first time the various inhabitants of the room had seen the king without his nightshirt, so the squire simply located a pair of linen underdrawers and found where the king's shirt had got to.
The king yawned, stretched his arms, and winced when the stitches beneath his bandage pulled. There was a period of time that was a blank. When he received a wound from the treacherous blade of his brother, and been carried to the castle, a handsome young man pushed his way to the fallen king's side. "Let me through!" he cried. "I'm a doc…that is, I'm a leech!" and brandished a small case made of a strange sort of metal.
"Bring me a cup of wine!" the stranger called, with such authority that no one questioned him. Then he sprinkled a powder into it. "Drink it, my liege," he said, so softly and with such sympathy that this changed key also compelled obedience. "'Tis sophisticated with syrup of poppies, so you will sleep and feel no pain when I dress the wound."
As for what transpired after Richard awoke, that was fresh in his memory, and he closed his eyes to savor it. "Benedicite!" he said as his eyes flew open in shock. He crossed himself. The young stranger's hair was black, not the blond or red or light brown to which Richard was better accustomed. His skin was smooth and fair, fragrant with delightful smells that must have been the perfumes of the East. He wore no cross beneath his shirt, and turned aside when Richard knelt to say his evening prayers.
Richard saw him drink no wine; indeed, he stood at the ewer and emptied a wine goblet over his hands, casting away the Christian beverage. His virile member was circumcised, after the heathen fashion. Richard concluded that that explained why his simples and bandages were so much better than those of the barber-surgeons following Richard's own army. Everyone knew that the Jews and the Saracens were cleverer than Christians, which is what they got instead of eternal Salvation.
Richard shook his head, wonderingly. His own brother had tried to kill him, and the Sultan Saladin had been chivalrous enough to heal his wound. He had heard many reports of the Sultan going about in disguise, so this event was not surprising. At first, he yearned to cross swords once again with this elegant enemy, and then his heart fell, fearing that the natural outcome of any such encounter would be the forfeit of one of their lives.
33
"Zo' and Wash should be back with the shuttle in an hour," Mal said. "Kaylee, you head on back to the ship. See that Zoe puts her feet up and gets her rest, and you and Wash, install all that stuff they brung and make sure we're good to go."
"Well, damn," Kaylee said. "All them royal folks holdin' court, and I gotta go back to work."
34
Now that King Richard had returned to his realm, and Regent Deschamps lavishly rewarded with his sovereign's gratitude and much gold (Parliament voted a new tax on rye crops), given new titles (that didn't cost the King anything) and fired, the King had a magnificent brocaded tent put up in the marketplace where petitioners could seek justice.
Inara did a graceful barrel-roll to the side of the litter, extended her feet, and sprang out. She hadn't had much practice getting out of litters, so it was a good thing that she moved with an instinctual grace sharpened by training. She reached inside her neckline and lifted the chain of the pectoral cross over her head, glad to take off the alien symbol. With the cross dangling from her outstretched hand, she curtsied to the Queen, and to King Richard, and pointedly stopped there.
"My lady," she said, "My liege, I am a courtesan. And by this golden cross, and a casket of gold and jewels, Prince John lay with me."
"You lied to me!" Prince John yelped. "You said you were an abbess!"
"Nay, my lord, I said nothing of the kind."
"…and I gave you all that saint-seducing gold to tempt you to fall into deadly sin!"
"I would have accepted the suit of a merchant, if he pleased me, for twenty pieces of gold. That you gave me more, my lord Prince, I deemed to be your royal bounty." She gestured with the chain; the heavy jeweled metal swung and blazed in the sun it caught.
On cue, River piped up, "That's the Bishop of Durham's cross!"
The new Bishop—the deceased Bishop's secretary--said, "'Tis the sacred symbol of the Bishop's authority," and stretched out his hand for it.
"I knew not that before," Inara said. "And now my conscience cries out. How came the Prince by it?"
"Everybody knows that Robin Hood stole it," Prince John said.
The incumbent bishop nodded. "The murderous villain shouted 'I am Robin Hood's man!'" as he struck down my sainted predecessor. The dagger with which he did foul murder was painted Lincoln green, which all know to be Robin Hood's sigil."
"Did he take the dagger out of the wound when the deed was done?" Queen Eleanor asked.
"He did not that," the new Bishop said. "He stole the cross from the Bishop's neck, and a chest of silver, and a new-made gold chalice and paten and pyx, and some victuals. And he made as if to pull the dagger forth, but said, "Leave the dirk. Take the manchets."
"That's clear enough," Prince John said, rubbing his hands briskly. "Robin Hood did it. Case closed."
"But, my Prince, blood enmity lies between you and Robin Hood," Inara said. "He would not give it to you of his will and liking. You did not arraign him for this crime and make him forfeit his spoils, or kill him and take away his ill-gotten gains, for here he stands, a free man."
"I swear that I am guiltless in the Bishop's death, and I took naught from him nor his train," Robin said.
"Anyway, the Sheriff of Nottingham gave it to me," the Prince said. "It's his job to give me things. I don't ask where they come from."
The hubbub in the marketplace stilled to deathly silence.
"You know," Prince John said, "Now that Richard's back home in his rightful throne, I think one of the family should take up the Crusading banner. Good for the soul and so forth. Yes, I think I'll leave as soon as I can get together my Crusading equipment."
"I think that would be an excellent idea," Queen Eleanor said. "Free of bad influences…" She turned to the King, put an imploring hand on his sleeve, and gazed at him. Hopeless as they both were in their separate ways, she loved both her sons.
"When there has been treason, and rebellious hands raised against the King's majesty, then someone must suffer," King Richard said. "Sheriff of Nottingham, for foully sending the good Bishop to sit at the right hand of Our Lord, you are hereby condemned to immediate death, and all your goods confiscate to the Crown."
"I have a name, you know," said the Sheriff.
"It boots us nothing to learn it," Queen Eleanor said. "You may, perhaps, tell it to the priest who shrives you for the last time."
Shepherd Book didn't even believe in auricular confession, but he could not find it in his heart to deny the last comforts to a man about to be executed. (Prince John's chaplain, Brother Denys, did believe in auricular confession, but he made himself scarce, knowing that certain kinds of worldly knowledge can propel a cleric to his heavenly reward decades before he intended to take it up.)
When the Shepherd returned to the court, saddened by having witnessed yet another death in a very long scroll of them, he was just in time to see Sir Robert, newly knighted and reinstated to his lands and titles, rise from his knees. "And now, Sir Robert, for thy good service," the King said, "I revoke my consent to the marriage of Lady Marian and Sir Guy of Gisbourne—who I now condemn and make outlaw—and give you the hand of the lady Marian." It was both the greatest and least expensive boon he could convey on his faithful vassal.
The Bishop of Durham granted them an ecclesiastical license for an immediate marriage, and then celebrated the nuptials himself, with Shepherd Book as his altar server. With that advantageous view, Book could not help noticing that while Lady Marian's face glowed with delight, her bridegroom's brow was knotted and he muttered his responses ungraciously.
35
"Ever'body back on board?" Mal asked.
"Shepherd Book isn't back yet. Mal, I think you should remind everyone not to tell Kaylee about the Sheriff. She'd be so upset." (Inara mused that there was no way to be sure what River would say on the subject although perhaps it would be cryptic enough to keep Kaylee in the dark.)
"Well, Inara, looks like you didn't get that big ol' jeweled cross after all," Mal said, scratching his nose.
"It was a profitable engagement nevertheless, thank you for concern," Inara said. "Oh, I see you received a token as well."
"This? Forgot I had it," Mal said, tucking the ring with "Loyaute Me Lie" written inside the band in his pocket. "Pity you keep endin' up workin' for folks that ain't that nice."
"Yes," Inara said. "I envy you the pleasantness of your clientele and the precise performance of each professional engagement."
36
The new Countess of Huntington, heedless of decorum, halted her white horse (a wedding gift from Inara, who otherwise planned to sell it in the market) and leapt down to the grass to enter her new home. Then she checked her run, thinking that perhaps her lord would wish to carry her over the threshold.
Robin swung down from his horse, and walked with heavy tread to the door where his bride awaited him, her lovely face upturned with a smile as cheerful as a sunflower's yellow petals.
"Well, I suppose we'd best find a bit of parchment and some ink," he said.
"My lord?" she asked.
"A convent would be best. You'll be safe there…"
"But why should I be anywhere other than at my husband's side, safe or imperiled? And to what convent should I run? The Prioress of St. Mary's at the Well is Alys of Gisbourne. A fair welcome would she give to me, I daresay."
"Marian!" he said, his face twisted with grief. "I made a pretense of wedding you, to spare your shame before the company. But I know the truth."
"And what truth might that be?"
"The Sheriff of Nottingham boasted to all that he had you. And not by force, that you lay with him freely."
"And who would you believe—your own wife, or a foul traitor whose head e'en now adorns a pike?"
"I am true maid," she said. "Which you may prove, and no sin, as we are married in sight of Holy Church."
37
"I shall miss you, Friar Book," said Brother Denys. "I have so few opportunities to discourse of true divinity with a learned man."
"The caravan of merchants that I accompany is moving off," Book said. "That is the way of merchants."
"Before you leave, my friend, there is something I would know. Can you confirm a report brought to me by two girls? They are light wenches, so none will mark them, but what shall I say of their profession that your company resides in a castle that flies about from place like a swallow?"
Book wrenched the serene smile into place on his face, and patted the young monk's shoulder reassuringly. "When the legend becomes the fact, chronicle the legend."
THE END
12,199 words! I'm just sayin'.
18
Queen Eleanor waved her hand to dismiss the servants, so she could speak privately to the crude yet somehow distinguished man, the obvious leader of the oddly dressed party of strangers.
"You are sojourners here, but perhaps you have heard that the King my son has gone on Crusade," she said.
:"Aye, your Grace," Mal said, hoping that was obsequious enough at least not to get his head axed off. That trip to the marketplace was full of local knowledge.
:"But what you know not is that he has been captured, not by our heathen foe, but by a Christian prince who holds him to ransom. It fell hard upon me, but I ransacked the revenues of my lands to raise the money, and a cart is loaded and ready to travel to Duke Friedrich's realm. But I have heard—none recks what a servant maid may hear, or what she might tell one who will give ear to her tale—that the Sheriff of Nottingham and his familiar, Gisbourne, wish to lengthen my son's imprisonment."
Mal opened his mouth to say, "Yeah, I heard your younger boy wants to keep his butt in the malmsey a mite longer, but you ain't got nothin' to worry about, one way or 'tother one of your boys gets to keep the brass ring less'n you try to take it back for yourself," but said, "Can such things be?"
"Master Reynolds, I hear you are but a simple merchant, one who has never visited this planet before and seeks for trading opportunities." (Eleanor remembered that the young sibyl had pointed out that 'mechant' meant 'bad' in the French-that was.)
"Yes, ma'am, that's me."
"Alack a day," the Queen said. "For I am greatly in need of succor, and would reward the man who took up my cause."
"There's a lot more to bein' a merchant than the job description might tell ya," Mal said.
"I have ordered the money taken from my treasury and sent to the Duke Friedrich. But the caitiff Sheriff's complot is that he will steal the money, add to it some five thousand nobles of his own, and thereby persuade the Duke to extend my son's captivity. Were somehow this foul treason were to be thwarted…say, if the Duke were to receive the original ransom, and some part of the additional five thousand nobles, then mayhap a brave man might take his reward as some portion of the…of the wages of sin."
"Your Majesty, you’re my kind of stupid," Mal said.
Eleanor extended her hand. "You may kiss my hand." And Mal did, figuring that he knew an invitation when he saw one. Although if he was wrong, and he came on strong, he was like to get his head chopped off like a rooster an hour before Sunday dinner. And if he was right, and hung back, probably more of the same. Unless it wasn't his head chopped off.
She had to have been older than his Mamma would have been, which gave him an uncomfortableness, and obviously she hadn't had anything but beeswax and carmine to stave off or paint over the ravages of age, and it was the kind of place where the rich folk had perfume more'n' they had soap.
"Don't worry, I can make it back to the campsite on my own," River said. Mal didn't want to tangle with Simon about letting her out unsupervised (although she'd somehow managed to get there, a point he could raise to Simon if need be). But he really didn't want to leave.
In the firelight, Queen Eleanor's unloosed hair gleamed gold in places. Elsewhere, silver was precious enough. Her skin was no longer taut, but that only meant that its velvet had been found.
19
On her next wave, Zoe looked hesitant (although she also looked glowingly healthy and rested). "You remember Kel Hoopenberg, from the Ought-Niners?"
"Aww, Yesooa, don't tell me you gotta go to his funeral."
"No, not at all. He's fine. Runs a vaudeville theater. Thing is, the goose juggler took sick, and they got a coach party comin' in from Poston's Crick. The Kelster says that he'll pay Wash five hundred credits for a three-night stand. Also, there's a miniature golf course out back of the theater, and you know how much Wash loves miniature golf."
"I do?" said Mal. "I mean, yeah, hang in there a titch more if you gotta."
"You be all right down there, without a job?"
"Hey, turns out we got a job," Mal said. "Could be a fine one. But we got it covered, don't need no more fire power."
20
"Hell, Mal, I got my you-know-what," Jayne said, humming "The hero of Sherwood—the man they call Me" under his breath. "Simon give it back to me."
"Well, of course you've got your you-know-what, and I'm damn sick of hearin' you braggin' on it, and how Simon got ahold of it I surely don't want to know."
Jayne gave him a patented look of disgust, licensed from River.
"Oh," Mal said. "THAT you-know-what. Naw, I think we'll do just fine with knives and rocks and such, maybe the odd arrow here and there. Okay, Queen Eleanor's sent her cart full o' money out where the Sheriff's fellas are gonna grab it, add in some extra for the Duke so's he'll sing their tune, and we're gonna grab it back and hand it over to the Duke so Queen Eleanor gets her boy back."
"It's not as if there were a twelve-lane superhighway…" Simon said.
"Yeah," Jayne said. "What Doc means to say is, there ain't but one road. Even if we don't go back to the ship and get the mule…"
"Best not, attract too much of the wrong kind of attention," Mal said, even without the simultaneous Simon-to-English translation.
"Won't strain us too much to get ahead of 'em on the road, get the jump on 'em, and give that money back to that cougar o'yours."
"Hey!" Mal said.
"Your royal cougar then."
Simon unclipped the powerful flashlight from his pocketknife and shone the bright, tightly focused beam on the ground. "I think we could relax the technology ban a little bit…stake out the road, but where we think they'll make camp for the night. When they're asleep, with the flashlights and perhaps one laser lantern, I can anesthetize them with some of the portables in my field kit. Then we can tie them up, and by the time they wake up, we'll be long gone."
"How're we gonna carry all that stuff? Eight-five thousand nobles and angels and shit, that's gotta be a crapload of gold…oh, hey, wait. Yeah." Jayne said.
"It'll be dark," Simon said. "I don't think the ox will be able to ID us."
21
"I've been thinking," Sir Guy said.
"No sentence that you begin that way can ever end well," the Sheriff said, setting up the chessboard.
"The people hate me," Sir Guy said.
"Oh, is that all? I thought you had a real problem. Have one of your servitors bring me up a cup of burnt wine and a roast fowl."
"It's Friday!" Sir Guy said, falling back and crossing himself in shock.
"Yes, I'm sure that your abstinence from roast flesh of beasts will be the most important item in your compt on Judgment Day."
"That's what I've been worrying about. I mean, what's going to happen to me after I, well, leave Marian and our children. What about needle's eyes? But don't we have to render camels unto Caesar? The Saxons are poor, and yet we use our warrant of authority to rob them."
"It's a volume business," the Sheriff said. "Broad-based."
"Doesn't it make sense to rob the rich?"
"First of all, they are far better defended than the caitiff wretches you refer to. Secondly, we're rich, and we hardly are well-served by giving forth the idea that wealth is there to be seized by anyone with a strong arm."
"There's that, too. This Robert person. Robin Hood they clepe him. I drive him to outlawry, and he finds allies to assist him. Half the time when I send out a tax collector, the fellow returns empty-handed and with the marks of a quarterstaff on his person."
"Knight takes Bishop," the Sheriff said, suiting the deed to the word. {{Mother of God}} he thought. {{Am I to do nothing but instruct blockheads how to perform simple robberies?}} "Let's kill two birds with one poniard, shall we? Soon it will be bruited about that Robin Hood has robbed and murdered the Bishop of Durham."
"Well, it's true that I hate him with a deathly enmity," Sir Guy said, "But in some ways Robin Hood isn't a bad chap, I don't think he'd rob a prelate of Holy Church. And even if he would, how would be know in advance so we could get any good out of it?"
{{Can't get good help these days}} sighed the Sheriff. "All the world knows where the Lord Bishop journeys," he said. "He is accompanied but by his secretary and one servingman. Send a bravo or two. The servingman will flee when he sees cold steel."
"You can't really expect him to risk his life for us, when all we do is tax him and his like and steal their crops," Sir Guy said thoughtfully.
The Sheriff cleared his throat. "Have your man kill the Bishop, steal whatever comes within his reach, and let the secretary think that he has escaped by his own valor or God's grace. But before he runs to save his skin, be sure that the secretary hears the robber say that he is one of Robin's band. And when word of this shameful sin is nosed about, then those who love Robin Hood now will despise him instead."
22
Marian picked through the dish, although at a two-star hostelry like The Green Man the choices were limited to chopped dates and walnuts cemented with honey, or more dates/walnuts/honey. She had the best room at the inn, and her uncle the second-best, but it was a humble village alehouse, and its store of the exotic ingredients brought back by Crusaders was small. "I know not which way to turn," she said to her new friend.
"What's the problem?" Kaylee asked, looking down into the pitcher and shaking it. Nope, no more mead.
"Ye wot, that I am betrothed to Sir Guy of Gisbourne, yet he frightens and disgusts me. The coldness of his tiny eyes…"
"Yeah," Kaylee said sympathetically. "You can put lipstick…uh, unguent…on a pig and it's still a pig…"
"Praise be to Holy Church, there is many a festival when no nuptials can be celebrated, and many a fast day when no man may claim his wife's marriage debt. But it can't be put off forever."
"This ain't the kind of planet where they let you marry two fellas at once, is it?"
Marian, shocked, shook her head.
"Then it's pie. You an' Robin go up to our Shepherd, ah, our Friar Book. He says a few words at ya, you're married to him, and you can't marry the other fella." {{At least until the one you don't like makes a widow out of you, puts you back in play}} she thought.
"But…but…it is my uncle's will that I marry Gisbourne. Uncle Walter has always stood in the place of a father. He thinks that uniting my Saxon blood to Gisbourne's Norman blood will not only help keep the peace, but will create a new and stronger race. "
Kaylee thought that was the kind of horse hockey that put Earth That Was on the Disabled List, but she held her tongue until Marian said, "And Uncle Walter is a man, with a man's wisdom, and I but a simple maiden. It is not our way to allow mere girls to seal their own fate."
"This is a dumb planet," Kaylee said.
"And, how could I marry an outlaw? And yet, after tonight, how can I ever marry anyone? The Sheriff…. Kaylee, you must tell no one," Marian said.
:"Silent as the grave," Kaylee mumbled, her lips sealed by a sweetmeat.
"The Sheriff sent a henchman to tell me that unless he takes me as his leman, he will kill my true love, Robert of Huntington. I must come to him tonight, he says."
"Well, he was gonna kill him anyway, according to what I heard," Kaylee said. "So he ain't got much to hold over your head."
"But if he gives Robin up to be drawn and quartered as a traitor, not merely to die a chivalrous death in a duel…"
"Now, that I can help you with," Kaylee said. "I'm, well, kinda bigger than you are, but that don't matter so much with the stuff you guys wear…" She opened the lid of the chest where Marian stored her wardrobe. Marian began to protest that this was no time to play dress-up, and no wise would she dress herself in Kaylee's immodest garments even in the privacy of her own chamber, until light dawned in her eyes.
23
Prince John squinted in the twilight. His heart raced when he recognized the magnificent white palfrey, and it stuttered when he saw the graceful figure of the rider. "Leave me," he told the knights in his escort. He spurred his horse, catching up with Inara.
"Lady," he said. "Know you who I am?"
Inara cast down her eyes and adjusted her veil more becomingly. "Yes, Your Grace…you are the Prince John, King Richard's younger brother."
"Aye," he said. "And by my blood royal, and by the strength of mine own arm and will, I always obtain that which I desire, no matter who seeks to check me. Tonight I lie at Huntington Castle. I have gold, and jewels, to the value of many marks, and I am inflamed by your beauty. Will you lie with me tonight?"
"Aye, my lord," Inara said demurely. The Prince was fairly young, and he wasn't bad-looking. He was a brat, of course, but most of her clients were. They didn't even have the excuse of the pressure of a diadem to cause their swelled heads. Inara was glad that what once had seemed like unprofitable downtime now seemed to furnish a lucrative engagement, and one that would add luster to her resume. Although Companions did not kiss and tell, somehow or other the fact that a royal prince had enjoyed her favors would not remain entirely unknown.
"I have my own steambath, you know," the Prince said, to his own inexpressible satisfaction. "It folds up."
"I'm sure it must be magnificent, my liege," Inara said. This, too, was an agreeable surprise. Inara felt reasonably clean, given the numerous icy streams to bathe in, but subtracting the iciness factor would be pleasant.
24
"Ah, Lady Marian," the Sheriff gloated in his gloomy chamber. "You have come to me."
"Didn't give me much of a choice, did you?" Kaylee asked.
"Will you take wine?" She didn't look quite as he remembered, but it was dark, and anyway he distinguished one girl from another largely by point value. Ravishing the noble Saxon maiden who was the betrothed of his familiar and the ladylove of his enemy would put him streets ahead of any of his co-conspirators.
"Sure," Kaylee said. "You got the kind with spices in?"
The Sheriff was unable to contain his impatience for more than half a cup of wine, and he clashed the goblet down on the table, grabbed Kaylee, and kissed her as if he expected her to be wearing a magical ring. He let her go for a moment, looking pleased with himself. Then he pointed in the direction of the bed. Kaylee shrugged, sat down on the bed, reached underneath Marian's borrowed dress, and unlaced her boots. The Sheriff squinted. He didn't think he had ever seen boots like that before, and he made a note to ask about them later.
He threw himself across her body, his hand stalling on the velvet of Marian's second-best dress as he tried to find the hem of the dress. His arm wasn't long enough, so he tried to stuff his other hand down the neck of the dress, but this time was frustrated by Kaylee's greater amplitude.
"Hey, hey, where's the fire?" Kaylee asked. Confused, the Sheriff gestured toward the vast chimney. "No, I mean, what's the hurry? There's two of us to get pleased, y'know."
The Sheriff furrowed his brow. He had heard many sermons about the insatiable lusts of women, but assumed that it was an invention of clerics short of material. "Let me clearly ascertain your meaning. Your implication is that there is some sense in which this act of darkness could be acceptable to you, or even enjoyable?"
"Somethin' must have messed with your self-esteem somethin' awful. I mean, puttin' a gun to her head—or someone else's—ain't the way to make girls like you, but you'd do fine if you went about it a little nicer. You got most of your teeth, and you don't smell so bad," Kaylee said encouragingly.
"That's down to Prince John," said the Sheriff, who had understood only a small part of Kaylee's speech but was not about to admit that. "He's very proud of his steambath."
25
Sir Guy of Gisbourne looked around at the malodorous crowd of peasants gathered for the great Sheep Fair and Butter Market. At the moment, they were in a good mood, but that could change in a moment. Gisbourne was escorted by a dozen men-at-arms in steel hauberks, but they—and he--could be ripped to pieces by a truly spirited crowd.
Sir Guy decided that a prudent show of force could save a lot of future difficulties. So he had the biggest longbow in town brought to him. He quickly nocked five arrows on the bowstring, fired them off, and nodded and waved at the cheering crowd as all five arrows thudded into the center rings of the target.
{{I'll bet the Sheriff couldn't do that}} Sir Guy comforted himself, wondering why the Sheriff was not present. {{And he's always saying I'd be lost without him.}}
("Wait, you mean…in the daytime?" the Sheriff was saying just about then. "Sure, why not?" Kaylee said. "More fun if you can see what you're doin'.")
And then Sir Guy had an idea. He unhooked the purse of silver coins from his belt and held it up. "If any man here can draw this mighty bow and put five arrows into the target from where I stand, he may claim this purse of silver."
There was a roar of applause, and then a hubbub in the crowd. The bow was lifted from Sir Guy's grasp and carried twenty yards further back. Then a laugh swept the crowd, and Sir Guy gathered that it was at his expense. He scowled, and realized it would be a good idea to step aside.
So fast that the twang of the bow blurred into a single whine, four arrows formed a precise square around his best shot. The fifth arrow split his own and homed into the center of the bull's eye.
"Oh, all right," Sir Guy said ungraciously, throwing down the purse of silver and stalking off surrounded as tightly by his armed guards as his best arrow was surrounded by the upstart's. The purse was soon taken up and thrown to the youth who rode on the shoulders of the jubilant peasantry.
Sir Guy was glad that the Sheriff wasn't there. He knew he'd never hear the end of it.
26
"How was the fair?" Mal asked, suppressing a yawn. Just because he was a lot younger than Queen Eleanor didn't mean he was as young as he used to be.
"Only the brave deserved it," Simon said, tightening the arm around River's shoulders. "Is Kaylee all right? I thought she'd be at the fair, it's the kind of thing she enjoys, but I didn't see her." At first Simon thought about contributing the purse of silver to Serenity's common exchequer. Then he decided that certain incidents involving, e.g., inaccurate reports of a patient's condition and a space suit, relieved him of the obligation of candor.
"Kaylee's fine," Mal said. Jayne guffawed. "Oh!" Simon said.
27
That night, the oxcart interception went as planned. Mal had the most experience with livestock, so he took the first shift of heading the cart toward the meeting place appointed for the delivery of the ransom, as Simon held the flashlight and tried to figure out how to manage the cart and team. Jayne napped until it was time to rotate the shifts.
At dawn, the initial set of thieves woke up, shook their aching heads, and ascertained that the laden oxcart had not been bewitched into invisibility. On that note, they decided that it would be soul-saving, or at least practical, to head for the Holy Land before the Sheriff found out that the stolen money had been whisked away right under their noses.
28
Queen Eleanor, accompanied by her lady-in-waiting Marian and other persons fit for a royal court, arrived first, having set out in a convoy of litters the afternoon before Mal carried out her mission. She had a touching reunion with her not terribly grateful son (if he couldn't be off crusading, he didn't particularly want to be dragged home to deal with a lot of boring parchments and squabbling nobles). The Queen assured Duke Friedrich that the ransom would be there within the hour.
After she had repeated the assurance three times, the oxen, resentful at Jayne's treatment, lumbered into view. The cart was followed shortly by a magnificent, but currently winded, black stallion with Prince John flattened down on the horse's neck.
"I see I'm just I time," the Prince said.
"What do you want?" King Richard snarled.
"Look, don't give him back," said Prince John. "Keep him."
"Your lady mother has paid me this cartful of money for his release," Duke Friedrich said. "How much more can you offer, and when will it arrive?
"Well, I haven't got the money as such with me, but if you hang on to him long enough for me to seize control of the treasury then I'll send someone back with…with…a hundred thousand nobles! And a chest of jewels!"
"When the market is fine fat bullocks or warlike kings, then we sell for cash only and trust not to promises. Queen Eleanor, take your son. You have won the day, for you were the only knight truly armored."
"You can keep the cart, sirrah Duke," Queen Eleanor said. "Captain Reynolds, will you have your servant drive the oxen back to my court? It's time to start thinking about the fall slaughter."
"Uh, how're we gonna get back?" Mal asked, wishing that he'd found some way to bring the mule without attracting suspicion. "The other two, your Majesty, I mean."
"You may ride with me in the litter. Your handsome squire may have the loan of a horse. Or perhaps the gift of it, for his part in this noble deed."
29
Without warning, Prince John pulled his sword from the scabbard and, lowering his head, charged gracelessly at his brother. Startled, King Richard reached for his own sword. A heartbeat later, his recent captor returned it to him, and the steel of the blades rang out as they clashed. They both tried to advance at the same time, and this time, their bodies crashed together, too close for swordplay. They sprang apart, and crossed swords again, high overhead.
"A brother's murder?" Book intoned, stepping between the two of them. "It has the primal eldest curse on it. Cain was doomed forever to be a wanderer because of that blood on his hands."
Richard dropped back a pace, unwilling to harm a priest.
The prince felt no such compunction, and he charged again, dragging the edge of his sword down his brother's ribs. A long pennon of blood stained the king's green-blue tunic embroidered with gold lions.
"Stand away, caitiff priest," Prince John said. "You are not good enough to die by the sword stained with kingly blood." So he drew the dagger from his belt . Then, startled, he dropped it, assailed by the grinding pain in his left wrist (seized in the Shepherd's iron grip) and what seemed to be the sting of the 'Verse's largest hornet, behind and below.
Nearby, up a tree, River surveyed her handiwork with pleasure. She hadn't used the sharpest arrow in the quiver, but then Prince John wasn't either.
30
It is very much to be regretted that when the Duke hitched his own oxen to the cart filled with the barrels of money for the ransom and had them hauled up to his castle keep, that quite a few of the barrels held coins to the depth that a man's wrist might sink, but were otherwise filled with, depending on who had handled the barrel last, tree branches cut small, scrap iron, or rusty nails.
The Duke consoled himself that even a rusty nail would fetch a groat, and a sound one a silver penny. In any event, it wasn't as though he had much of an investment in Richard, so whatever he realized on the deal (less a few venison pasties and treen goblets of ale) was pure profit.
31
There didn't seem to be anyone in the chamber or in the hallway, so Simon risked switching on his flashlight, cupping his palm over the bulb in case he was wrong. Yes, the patient seemed to be responding well to the relaxant, and the bandage was still clean so the wound repair probably had gone well. There hadn't been any gloves available, of course, or even soap and water, so he did the best he could, pouring a cup of wine over his hands and drying them with a very suspicious looking linen towel. Then he used a cleaning towelette from his field kit, sutured the wound, sprinkled it with antibiotic powder, and bandaged it.
Occasionally he touched his patient's forehead gently (he didn't appear feverish), counted his breaths, took his pulse. Then he sat, watching the rushlight play over the sleeping king's features, their fingers intertwined.
{{It's completely unethical}} Simon thought. {{I could get struck off the register for something like this. Of course I already have been struck off the register…And. Well. I mean, he's the King, and while it can't really be counted as a personal accomplishment, well, it's hard not to be impressed…}}
A few months later, Jayne went through Simon's stuff (which he did every once in a while, just to keep his hand in, but only when he was really bored because naturally it was usually just the same crap as last time). He found a ring, set with one of those old-fashioned dirty diamonds, the kind that looks like they cut it by bashing a coupla rocks together.
32
Richard, called Lionheart, stretched his arm out but was not surprised to find himself alone in bed. Not entirely alone; a page had come to bring in a shank of boar and a pitcher of spiced wine and a few manchets, and a servant had come to empty the slops and a squire had come to help him dress for the day.
It wasn't the first time the various inhabitants of the room had seen the king without his nightshirt, so the squire simply located a pair of linen underdrawers and found where the king's shirt had got to.
The king yawned, stretched his arms, and winced when the stitches beneath his bandage pulled. There was a period of time that was a blank. When he received a wound from the treacherous blade of his brother, and been carried to the castle, a handsome young man pushed his way to the fallen king's side. "Let me through!" he cried. "I'm a doc…that is, I'm a leech!" and brandished a small case made of a strange sort of metal.
"Bring me a cup of wine!" the stranger called, with such authority that no one questioned him. Then he sprinkled a powder into it. "Drink it, my liege," he said, so softly and with such sympathy that this changed key also compelled obedience. "'Tis sophisticated with syrup of poppies, so you will sleep and feel no pain when I dress the wound."
As for what transpired after Richard awoke, that was fresh in his memory, and he closed his eyes to savor it. "Benedicite!" he said as his eyes flew open in shock. He crossed himself. The young stranger's hair was black, not the blond or red or light brown to which Richard was better accustomed. His skin was smooth and fair, fragrant with delightful smells that must have been the perfumes of the East. He wore no cross beneath his shirt, and turned aside when Richard knelt to say his evening prayers.
Richard saw him drink no wine; indeed, he stood at the ewer and emptied a wine goblet over his hands, casting away the Christian beverage. His virile member was circumcised, after the heathen fashion. Richard concluded that that explained why his simples and bandages were so much better than those of the barber-surgeons following Richard's own army. Everyone knew that the Jews and the Saracens were cleverer than Christians, which is what they got instead of eternal Salvation.
Richard shook his head, wonderingly. His own brother had tried to kill him, and the Sultan Saladin had been chivalrous enough to heal his wound. He had heard many reports of the Sultan going about in disguise, so this event was not surprising. At first, he yearned to cross swords once again with this elegant enemy, and then his heart fell, fearing that the natural outcome of any such encounter would be the forfeit of one of their lives.
33
"Zo' and Wash should be back with the shuttle in an hour," Mal said. "Kaylee, you head on back to the ship. See that Zoe puts her feet up and gets her rest, and you and Wash, install all that stuff they brung and make sure we're good to go."
"Well, damn," Kaylee said. "All them royal folks holdin' court, and I gotta go back to work."
34
Now that King Richard had returned to his realm, and Regent Deschamps lavishly rewarded with his sovereign's gratitude and much gold (Parliament voted a new tax on rye crops), given new titles (that didn't cost the King anything) and fired, the King had a magnificent brocaded tent put up in the marketplace where petitioners could seek justice.
Inara did a graceful barrel-roll to the side of the litter, extended her feet, and sprang out. She hadn't had much practice getting out of litters, so it was a good thing that she moved with an instinctual grace sharpened by training. She reached inside her neckline and lifted the chain of the pectoral cross over her head, glad to take off the alien symbol. With the cross dangling from her outstretched hand, she curtsied to the Queen, and to King Richard, and pointedly stopped there.
"My lady," she said, "My liege, I am a courtesan. And by this golden cross, and a casket of gold and jewels, Prince John lay with me."
"You lied to me!" Prince John yelped. "You said you were an abbess!"
"Nay, my lord, I said nothing of the kind."
"…and I gave you all that saint-seducing gold to tempt you to fall into deadly sin!"
"I would have accepted the suit of a merchant, if he pleased me, for twenty pieces of gold. That you gave me more, my lord Prince, I deemed to be your royal bounty." She gestured with the chain; the heavy jeweled metal swung and blazed in the sun it caught.
On cue, River piped up, "That's the Bishop of Durham's cross!"
The new Bishop—the deceased Bishop's secretary--said, "'Tis the sacred symbol of the Bishop's authority," and stretched out his hand for it.
"I knew not that before," Inara said. "And now my conscience cries out. How came the Prince by it?"
"Everybody knows that Robin Hood stole it," Prince John said.
The incumbent bishop nodded. "The murderous villain shouted 'I am Robin Hood's man!'" as he struck down my sainted predecessor. The dagger with which he did foul murder was painted Lincoln green, which all know to be Robin Hood's sigil."
"Did he take the dagger out of the wound when the deed was done?" Queen Eleanor asked.
"He did not that," the new Bishop said. "He stole the cross from the Bishop's neck, and a chest of silver, and a new-made gold chalice and paten and pyx, and some victuals. And he made as if to pull the dagger forth, but said, "Leave the dirk. Take the manchets."
"That's clear enough," Prince John said, rubbing his hands briskly. "Robin Hood did it. Case closed."
"But, my Prince, blood enmity lies between you and Robin Hood," Inara said. "He would not give it to you of his will and liking. You did not arraign him for this crime and make him forfeit his spoils, or kill him and take away his ill-gotten gains, for here he stands, a free man."
"I swear that I am guiltless in the Bishop's death, and I took naught from him nor his train," Robin said.
"Anyway, the Sheriff of Nottingham gave it to me," the Prince said. "It's his job to give me things. I don't ask where they come from."
The hubbub in the marketplace stilled to deathly silence.
"You know," Prince John said, "Now that Richard's back home in his rightful throne, I think one of the family should take up the Crusading banner. Good for the soul and so forth. Yes, I think I'll leave as soon as I can get together my Crusading equipment."
"I think that would be an excellent idea," Queen Eleanor said. "Free of bad influences…" She turned to the King, put an imploring hand on his sleeve, and gazed at him. Hopeless as they both were in their separate ways, she loved both her sons.
"When there has been treason, and rebellious hands raised against the King's majesty, then someone must suffer," King Richard said. "Sheriff of Nottingham, for foully sending the good Bishop to sit at the right hand of Our Lord, you are hereby condemned to immediate death, and all your goods confiscate to the Crown."
"I have a name, you know," said the Sheriff.
"It boots us nothing to learn it," Queen Eleanor said. "You may, perhaps, tell it to the priest who shrives you for the last time."
Shepherd Book didn't even believe in auricular confession, but he could not find it in his heart to deny the last comforts to a man about to be executed. (Prince John's chaplain, Brother Denys, did believe in auricular confession, but he made himself scarce, knowing that certain kinds of worldly knowledge can propel a cleric to his heavenly reward decades before he intended to take it up.)
When the Shepherd returned to the court, saddened by having witnessed yet another death in a very long scroll of them, he was just in time to see Sir Robert, newly knighted and reinstated to his lands and titles, rise from his knees. "And now, Sir Robert, for thy good service," the King said, "I revoke my consent to the marriage of Lady Marian and Sir Guy of Gisbourne—who I now condemn and make outlaw—and give you the hand of the lady Marian." It was both the greatest and least expensive boon he could convey on his faithful vassal.
The Bishop of Durham granted them an ecclesiastical license for an immediate marriage, and then celebrated the nuptials himself, with Shepherd Book as his altar server. With that advantageous view, Book could not help noticing that while Lady Marian's face glowed with delight, her bridegroom's brow was knotted and he muttered his responses ungraciously.
35
"Ever'body back on board?" Mal asked.
"Shepherd Book isn't back yet. Mal, I think you should remind everyone not to tell Kaylee about the Sheriff. She'd be so upset." (Inara mused that there was no way to be sure what River would say on the subject although perhaps it would be cryptic enough to keep Kaylee in the dark.)
"Well, Inara, looks like you didn't get that big ol' jeweled cross after all," Mal said, scratching his nose.
"It was a profitable engagement nevertheless, thank you for concern," Inara said. "Oh, I see you received a token as well."
"This? Forgot I had it," Mal said, tucking the ring with "Loyaute Me Lie" written inside the band in his pocket. "Pity you keep endin' up workin' for folks that ain't that nice."
"Yes," Inara said. "I envy you the pleasantness of your clientele and the precise performance of each professional engagement."
36
The new Countess of Huntington, heedless of decorum, halted her white horse (a wedding gift from Inara, who otherwise planned to sell it in the market) and leapt down to the grass to enter her new home. Then she checked her run, thinking that perhaps her lord would wish to carry her over the threshold.
Robin swung down from his horse, and walked with heavy tread to the door where his bride awaited him, her lovely face upturned with a smile as cheerful as a sunflower's yellow petals.
"Well, I suppose we'd best find a bit of parchment and some ink," he said.
"My lord?" she asked.
"A convent would be best. You'll be safe there…"
"But why should I be anywhere other than at my husband's side, safe or imperiled? And to what convent should I run? The Prioress of St. Mary's at the Well is Alys of Gisbourne. A fair welcome would she give to me, I daresay."
"Marian!" he said, his face twisted with grief. "I made a pretense of wedding you, to spare your shame before the company. But I know the truth."
"And what truth might that be?"
"The Sheriff of Nottingham boasted to all that he had you. And not by force, that you lay with him freely."
"And who would you believe—your own wife, or a foul traitor whose head e'en now adorns a pike?"
"I am true maid," she said. "Which you may prove, and no sin, as we are married in sight of Holy Church."
37
"I shall miss you, Friar Book," said Brother Denys. "I have so few opportunities to discourse of true divinity with a learned man."
"The caravan of merchants that I accompany is moving off," Book said. "That is the way of merchants."
"Before you leave, my friend, there is something I would know. Can you confirm a report brought to me by two girls? They are light wenches, so none will mark them, but what shall I say of their profession that your company resides in a castle that flies about from place like a swallow?"
Book wrenched the serene smile into place on his face, and patted the young monk's shoulder reassuringly. "When the legend becomes the fact, chronicle the legend."
THE END
