The Way Back

Chapter Four

They reined in at a crossroads. Swinging down, Guy stretched; they'd been hours in the saddle. Resting an arm across the pommel Robin pondered the sign for a few moments, and then followed suit.

"Which way?" asked Guy.

"That's the road to Grimsby, but a long way to the next village." He pointed to the left fork. "There's one down there, about a half hour ride."

"It would help if we knew whether they're under contract. If they're after work, surely any town would do...."

"And we've no idea if we're ahead of Isabella's guards or not." Robin frowned. "This is getting us nowhere."

"There's an inn down there." Guy had wandered along to the first bend. "We should get a meal and ask around."

"I could eat," agreed Robin.

They mounted and rode the short distance to where lamp-light fell warmly in the dusk across a dusty forecourt. A weathered sign on a tilting chain announced it as "The Crow's Flight"; chimney smoke wavered into the purpling sky. From inside came the hum of talk and laughter; as the door opened Guy heard a mandolin being tuned.

"Qu'as tu fait? Imbecile!"​

He exchanged a glance with Robin. The door closed on the shout.

"You there," Guy grabbed the arm of the lad who emerged. "Who sees to the horses?"

"Not me." He shook himself free and, with a belch, scampered off down the road.

"Losing your touch, Gisborne?" Robin grinned.

Scowling, Guy grabbed the reins of both mounts and headed for the yard. He found the stable-boy rolling pennies down the edge of a stall, aiming for a bowl he'd placed in the straw.

"Take good care of these and we'll find you some better coin."

As he handed over the animals, Guy looked around. If he needed further evidence that they'd found their quarry, the foreign tack hanging on the hooks and the warhorses shifting in their stalls provided it. He strode out of the stables and back to the inn. Stepping inside, he was bemused to see Robin already raising a goblet with one of the patrons. The man wore a fussily trimmed beard; his pale blue eyes narrowed when Robin hailed Guy at the door.

"Guy – this is Felix, youngest son of the Count of Vaudreuil, arrived from the Vexin. Join us. His friend here, Raoul, can speak our tongue well enough I'm told, unless he's in his cups. Meet Sir Guy of Gisborne."

There was some shifting on the bench to make room, a serving maid summoned with comments that didn't need any particular language to be understood. Guy glanced around; there was a full company here, squashed up around the tables. A drink was pushed into his hand. Two men behind them were speculating why they had no servant. One crude suggestion had Guy almost choke on his ale. But if Robin wanted him to feign ignorance of the language, he would play along.

The other man was of solid build and ruddy-faced. He looked Guy over.

"You are a knight?" asked Raoul.

"Dispossessed," Guy said bluntly.

"What means this?"

"Landless."

Raoul grunted.

"Ahhh – we also. Then you are for fee...no, how do you say....for hire?"

"No. I'm not."

"Gisborne," - Robin shouldered against him, gesturing with his goblet – "Felix and his men travel to Leicester. He doesn't believe me when I say it's best to avoid Nottingham and the forests there."