Free King's Man by Angus Donald

He was a giant, abrupt, grey-brown man of late middle years, with huge scarred hands, who was then perhaps the most renowned fighting man in the country. We were standing on the battlements of his newly completed stone tower at Pembroke watching a multitude of labourers and masons working like busy ants to construct a curtain wall below us. ‘But you should know that your precious Earl is riding for a fall. It is well known that he is the King’s man, but King Richard is far away in Outremer and who knows when he will return. Or indeed if he ever will.’ The Marshal paused here and shot me a significant look before continuing.
    ‘Locksley has enemies here in England, and I don’t just mean that little weasel Murdac. Our noble Prince John looks askance at anyone who champions King Richard – it’s plain as the nose on his face that he wants the throne for himself – and I have heard that certain very powerful elements in the Church are after your master’s blood as well. A lot of people want to see Robert of Locksley brought down, young Alan. You should leave him while you have the opportunity. Come, throw in your lot with me, no one will speak ill of you for leavingLocksley to join the greatest knight in Christendom.’ He grinned at me to show that he was jesting about his fame and prowess, but in truth he was very proud of his reputation as a warrior. ‘Seriously, Alan, my people tell me that Locksley is doomed. Too many powerful men want to see him humbled. Join me – your exquisite music will be properly rewarded and I can always use another first-class swordsman in my household.’
    He was a good man, the Marshal, under his gruff soldierly exterior and for all his pride – and he meant well by me. Even so, I refused his offer. However, I was worried by what he had said. I knew, of course, that Prince John coveted the throne of England; part of Robin’s secret orders from King Richard when my master left the Holy Land had been to keep an eye on brother John and thwart him in his manoeuvring to increase his power, if at all possible. But I was also concerned by the Marshal’s mention of ‘certain very powerful elements of the Church’ being after his blood. Robin had long thumbed his nose at the clergy – in his outlaw days he made a particular point of robbing rich churchmen when they passed through his woodland domain – and now, it seemed, his chickens were coming home to roost.
    Since the purpose of my mission, in addition to delivering my lord’s messages, was to report anything that might concern him or his family, I scribbled a note to Robin on a scrap of old parchment and had Hanno gallop it immediately to Kirkton.
    While I waited for Hanno to return with fresh orders, I tarried at Pembroke, watching the building work with no little awe at the vast sums of money being expended, playing music for the Marshal, practising my sword-and-shield work with his household knights, and flirting discreetly with Isabel, mymiddle-aged host’s lovely young wife, who was more or less the same age as me. And at every opportunity I tried to find out more about the threat to Robin from the Church. More solid information came my way a few days later, and with it an unpleasant shock.
    Hanno had returned to my side, bearing terse instructions from Robin for us to return home. I was not sorry to be leaving Pembroke for I had become slightly infatuated with Isabel, and only my considerable regard for the Marshal had prevented me from expressing my passionate feelings for her. It was better to be away from temptation, I told myself. As we were packing our traps in preparation for our departure, my host appeared with a request: he wanted me to give a special performance after supper that night for an honoured guest. I was bound to oblige him, as I had been enjoying his hospitality for weeks, and I was not unhappy to do so – I wanted to perform a love song I had written for Isabel, to give her something beautiful to