The Way Back

Chapter Twenty-One

Hubert wasn't a man to be caught napping. For the first two weeks of March, he had the ports of both Sandwich and Dover watched. If Richard landed at either, it was fairly certain the royal entourage would travel via Canterbury. For such an event, he must be ready. He had a swift rider billeted at each port, with instructions to bring word the moment the sails of the king's fleet appeared.

He'd hardly slept these past weeks. By some stroke of divine providence, John's messenger had not only landed in his lap, but been gullible enough to disclose his secrets. The stratagem to gain the letters had worked, thanks to Guy.

Sir Guy. In conversation, he retained the formality; in the privacy of his thoughts, it was hard to think of this staunch knight with anything but the deepest affection. He owed the man his life. Of course in battle you protect your comrades; he and Raff had done so countless times. But what Hubert hadn't seen before was a man leave himself defenceless to do so.

With proof of John's perfidy to hand, he'd set about toppling his plans. The Council had met, dispossessing John of his lands and preparing to lay siege to his castles. All was almost ready. Once he'd greeted the king – any day now, surely – he would lead the troops to Marlborough Castle himself.

The report came one morning not long after dawn: Raff's knock on his door, the ruddy-faced messenger in the Great Hall brimming with importance.

"Yes Your Grace, the ships have been sighted; they will have made land. His Majesty, and Queen Eleanor, will be here by nightfall."

Hubert dismissed him. He was confident everything would be ready. Raff would oversee the details, a barrage of competence during the day and by evening, groomed to readiness, he would be at his shoulder ready to perform whatever service might be needed. Hubert sighed. His own day wouldn't be idle. More edicts to issue, final briefings for his deputies, all the various ecclesiastical and administrative tasks that would need to be handled in his absence. He didn't know how long he'd be away.

But of this Hubert had no doubt: the coming of the Lionheart would bring a storm to the land, and they would all be whipped about as leaves in the tumult.

With this in mind, there was one detail he mustn't neglect. When his Sherwood men appeared, he gave Guy and Archer the news. Guy clenched and unclenched his fists, but gave no other visible reaction. Hubert reached out a hand, tapping the studs on his thick leather doublet.

"Time to disappear again I think, Sir Guy," he said. "This time, to Nottingham."

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"Let me come with you," Meg pleaded. "I'm a good rider, let me just find something to wear..."

"No time," Archer said, glancing up as he checked straps and fastenings.

"That's just the sort of delay we can't afford," added Guy, strapping a water skin onto his saddle.

"It won't take long, I could..."

"No," they said, in unison.

"It'll be a hard ride Meg," Archer went on. "Speed's paramount."

"Sweetheart – you can follow in a day or two, in Savell's carriage. The carpenter Hubert's sending north to work on the siege engines isn't robust enough to ride, he and a couple of servants can accompany you."

"You've got it all worked out, haven't you?" she said bitterly.

"Don't sulk," he snapped, turning back to his tasks. "It doesn't become you."

At which she felt like hitting him, until they were ready to go and she saw from the look in his eyes that of course he didn't want to leave her. Why make it harder? A brief, parting kiss, words murmured in haste, and they were gone.