Free Hawksmaid by Kathryn Lasky Page A

mother’s necklace.” The boys looked at one another.
    â€œWhat necklace?” Will asked.
    â€œA necklace my father gave her at the time of my birth. It held a blue star sapphire called the Star of Jerusalem. Very rare. She wore it as a pendant.”
    â€œWell, if Gisborne has it, I’m sure he’s holding it for Prince John. A bargaining chip to buy loyalty,” Rich said.
    â€œPrince John,” Fynn continued, “needs many for his plans—traitors, schemers, varlets—all kinds. Not just the sheriff and Gisborne. Like Hubie said, he’s got the Bishop of Hereford, as corrupt a man as any. And I’ll bet you the abbess is connected to him .”
    Rich stood up suddenly. He was an astute lad with a sense of political maneuverings. On first glance, Rich looked as plain as a potato. His hair was a dusty brown and tiny freckles were scattered across his cheeks. His eyes were a very ordinary gray until he got an idea. Then they sparkled. “That makes sense. I heard, too, that there was a new abbess in the Nottingham abbey. How convenient for her to work with the sheriff. And the sheriff is owned by Prince John, who wants to own the church. Oh, yes, it all begins to fit neatly, doesn’t it? A devilish design of scoundrels and tyrants and rotten men of the cloth!”
    â€œAnd women,” Matty said softly. “It’s like a giant chess game, isn’t it? Bishop against bishop, knights and rooks for the prince—like Gisborne and the sheriff. The king virtually checkmated in the Holy Land. And all of us are the pawns, of course.”
    There was a deep silence. Then Rich said, “But there’s more to this—this…” He hesitated.
    â€œThis game,” Fynn said.
    â€œMore?” Hubie said. His large round face was flushed, and an anxious look clouded his green eyes.
    â€œYes.” Fynn began to pace in front of the rock where they had gathered. “My father was saying last night that more forest land—it’s not only Barnsdale but also Sherwood Forest—has now been forbidden to hunters, save for the prince’s and the sheriff’s men.”
    Hubie sighed. “There’s not going to be a thing to be had to eat if on top of all these taxes people can’t hunt anywhere. I don’t know what my mum’s going to do. When I deliver to the alehouses, I have to pay the gate tax. It’s doubled in the past year. It really cuts into our profits.”
    â€œThe millers’ taxes have gone up, too,” Rich said. “The customs officers used to come once a year, but now they come every four months. They think we’re so stupid. They say they are charging us less, but I said to me da, ‘Tell them we can multiply, Da. If they be charging us one pound three times a year, that is three pounds instead of the two pounds once a year we used to pay, plus the four bags of milled grain they now add.’”
    â€œWhat did your da say?” Matty asked.
    â€œHe said, ‘Don’t question, don’t argue. We don’t want trouble from them.’”
    â€œYou see,” Fynn continued, “every time you turn around, they are claiming more, be it land or taxes, in the name of the king. But we know John isn’t claiming it for King Richard. And now that the people have been bled, he turns to the church. Can’t tax the church, but why not steal from it?” Fynn paused and let that sink in.
    â€œSo what are we to do?” Matty asked.
    â€œI’m not sure,” Fynn said, “but the chalice is gone. It must be somewhere.”
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    Exactly a week later, when the boys and Matty took their places in church, the chalice was back in its niche. Matty noticed it first and nudged Hubie, who was on his knees beside her praying. He opened his eyes wide, then blinked, then nudged Fynn, who blew a thistle leaf through a reed at Rich. Rich turned around and mouthed,