The Dragon of Throxenby, Part 7
+++++
After Sir Guy's departure, the keep seemed empty and lifeless to Quenilda. The weather had turned foul and she'd been forced to stay inside instead of going out to see him off. She'd gone to her chamber, under the guise of giving Eva instructions to change the bed linens and tidy up her medicines, and had watched from the arrow-slit window as Sir Guy had ridden through the gate. He'd looked back once, and Quenilda had waved, though she knew he couldn't see her. When he was out of sight, she came away from the window with a little sigh and went to join her mother and sister in the solar.
"What do you think, Quen?" Isolda asked. "There's enough cloth here for a dress for each of us!"
As a thank you for taking care of him, or so he'd said, Sir Guy had given Quenilda a bolt of cloth, but he'd done it such a way as to include all the ladies of the household. It was a fine wool, dyed a cheerful blue, the exact same bolt that a grateful merchant had given to Sir Guy for saving his daughter from the dragon. The colour, Quenilda thought, would have looked very good on the knight, and and yet he'd chosen to leave it behind, instead of some of the other presents he'd received. Was it because blue was a colour traditionally worn for weddings? Now, Isolda had wrapped some of it around her face and shoulders, and asked Quenilda to judge the effect.
"It suits you well," Quenilda replied, and Isolda smiled. Freed from the threat of having to marry a man with such a cruel reputation, a man whose name was not Ivo, Isolda had started to relax a little in Sir Guy's presence and had even smiled that same smile for him when saying good-bye. Quenilda, on the other hand, had caught herself thinking more than once that she would rather have the man than the cloth, the man who had rescued her and slain the dragon, but was unable to hide his own vulnerability.
"How does it look on you? Mother thinks she'll trim hers with brown, or perhaps red," Isolda babbled on, unwinding the cloth and holding it out to Quenilda. "I think you won't need any such trim, what do you say, mother?"
"I could almost think that Sir Guy acquired this with you in mind," Quenilda's mother replied with a little smile. "Well, no matter, it will still make you a gown fit for a wedding."
It was some time later when Eva came to the door of the solar and addressed Quenilda. "My lady, one of the guards has been hurt, could you come and have a look at him?"
"Of course." Quenilda was glad to get away from any sewing that didn't involve stitching wounds together, so she gave her mother an apologetic curtsey and hurried after her maid. The young man was sitting in a corner of the kitchens, holding his head in his hands, and another guard was hovering protectively nearby.
"Let me see," Quenilda said, parting the man's hair to get a good look at the wound. It was sticky with dried blood.
"Owww," the guard moaned.
"Stop that," Quenilda told him, probing the area around the cut. A new trickle of blood started up, but fortunately, his skull felt intact. "You're not dying. Head wounds bleed a lot, that makes them look worse than they really are. What happened?"
"Dunno, my lady. I was just getting ready to ride out with Sir Guy like I was told to, then somebody hit me over the head. When I woke up, I was up in the loft, covered in straw, and tied hand and foot, too! My head aches something awful, and they even stole my armour and my livery, my lady!"
Quenilda froze. "You were going to ride out with Sir Guy?"
"Yes, my lady. The girl I want to marry lives a day's ride from Throxenby, and I thought we could visit her, spend the night with her family without having to pay for an inn, so when I heard that the steward was looking for somebody to ride that way, I volunteered."
"Who else was supposed to accompany Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked, and somehow wasn't surprised when the other guard said, "I was. But then one of the other guards offered me money to trade places with him, and since I'm already married and my wife here in town, I took it, of course."
"Which guard?" Quenilda asked. "Osbert?"
"Old Osbert, yeah," the other guard said, surprised that she'd guessed correctly.
"Old Osbert offered me money, too," the injured guard said. "I don't mind saying I was tempted, because it was a goodly sum, but –"
The dream hit Quenilda with all the force of a blow; a vision of Sir Guy, his hands tied behind his back, being guided through the forest by two men, and a man fitting an arrow to his bow as the men approached with Sir Guy. She knew at once that it was Robin Hood, and saw the hatred on his face as he released the arrow. Then she was in her own dream as well, falling onto her knees next to Guy's body and crying out because she'd come too late.
"No!" Quenilda cried out, and became aware of her surroundings again. The guards were looking at her in confusion and the injured one moaned, "My lady? Am I going to die?"
"Not you," Quenilda said absently, still reeling. "Eva, get my things—no. Either take him to Albreda or fetch her here. I have to –"
She stopped, and Eva asked, "What do you have to do, my lady?"
Quenilda didn't want to answer just then. She straightened up and ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs to the passage that led to the great hall. Her father was there, sitting at the high table and listening to two men fighting over a matter that seemed to involve sheep. When he was busy with administrational duties, the Earl had strict instructions about who could interrupt him, and why, none of which applied at this moment. He looked up in surprised annoyance when Quenilda came bursting in, and Quenilda stopped, abashed. "Forgive me, father," she said, then curtsied and slowed her pace to something more sedate and womanly. It was only after she'd crossed the hall and exited that she realized she hadn't used his title, even though others had been present. But then she glanced towards the steps and saw Thurstan making his way carefully down.
"Grandfather!"
"Quenilda," he said, smiling as she took his arm. "I've just had a dream."
"So have I," she broke in, leading Thurstan back up the stairs again. "Come to my chamber, grandfather, I've also found out something very disturbing."
"What?"
"The Earl asked for two guards to accompany Sir Guy," Quenilda explained. "But Osbert the guard gave money to one of those guards to take his place, and the other guard was hit over the head, tied hand and foot, and left in the loft! Somebody also took his armour and his livery, and if it wasn't Osbert, then it must have been somebody working with him!"
"That would help explain my dream," Thurstan mused as they entered Quenilda's chamber. "Two men were guiding Sir Guy through a forest, then they came to Robin Hood. Hood shot an arrow at him–"
"And I was there, but I came too late," Quenilda said, but Thurstan shook his head. "No, you were already there."
"I was already there? Oh!" Quenilda exclaimed, and catching her hopeful tone of voice, her grandfather asked, "Oh? What, oh?"
"I had almost the same dream, except for the end. I dreamed that I arrived too late and Robin Hood had already killed Sir Guy!"
"Robin Hood killed Sir Guy?" her grandfather asked sharply. "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure," Quenilda replied, but when her grandfather's worried expression didn't change, she added, "At the end of the dream, I was kneeling next to his body and I knew I'd come too late. I was crying because of it."
Thurstan relaxed slightly, then mused, "Two dreams that start out the same and then end differently. I've never had that before."
"It must mean something!" Quenilda exclaimed. She strolled to her clothes chest and opened the lid as she spoke. "It must mean that I can keep Robin Hood from killing Sir Guy if I get there fast enough! I must go!"
"Granddaughter—" Thustan said slowly, and his voice held an ominous note that made Quenilda stop and straighten up to look at him. "I didn't tell you the rest of my dream. You were already there, standing between Robin Hood and Sir Guy, when Robin Hood shot his arrow."
Quenilda hadn't known how buoyant her heart had become until she felt it sink. "You mean he killed me? Robin Hood killed me instead of Sir Guy, by accident, because I got there in time?"
"I did not see your death," Thurstan said. "I saw the arrow fly. I hope it does not mean what I think it does." He whirled away from her, strolling towards the window, then hit the wall next to it with his fist. "Sometimes I hate this sight! It never shows me what I want to see!"
"But there's hope, there must be!" Quenilda exclaimed. She reached into the chest and pulled out her cloak, then shook it free of its folds. "If you didn't see it, then it might not happen! Robin Hood might aim differently at the last moment, or only wound me, not kill me."
"There's always hope, but I wish you wouldn't be so eager to reach for the thinnest strand of it," Thurstan said.
"I have to go," she replied. She didn't say that she wanted to go; she didn't have to. Instead, she added weakly, "We both dreamed that I was there."
"I know," her grandfather said, and the simple statement encompassed everything.
Quenilda strolled to the table and grabbed her emergency bag, which was always packed with herbal supplies, then slipped the strap over her head and one shoulder. Hearing her movements, Thurstan turned in her direction, holding out his hands, but even as she took them, he let go and put his arms around her instead.
"I wish you could come with me," Quenilda said, hugging him tightly.
Thurstan hugged back, then pushed her away, and she could feel what he did not say. She knew that he regretted not being able to accompany her, help her, and especially protect her, that he was sad she had to go at all, but if she were to have any hope at all, she had to go now, and quickly. Pulling her cloak on, she took time for one last look at him, then went out.
At the stables, Quenilda gave instructions to one of the boys, then caught sight of someone who could come along. "Humphrey! Saddle yourself a horse; you must accompany me!"
He stopped and stared at her, but Quenilda was already whirling away, secure in the knowledge that Humphrey was solidly dependable, no matter how he might sigh or appear otherwise reluctant. As soon as her mount was ready, Quenilda let the stable boy give her a leg up into the saddle, then told him, "Tell Humphrey he's to follow me along the road that leads to Nottingham, as fast as he can!"
"Yes, my lady," the boy replied, and Quenilda spurred the mare into a trot even before she'd passed the gate. Once outside of the town and on the open road, she switched to a gallop, no longer caring when or even if Humphrey caught up with her, but thinking only of Sir Guy. The wind drove the rain into her face and she was soaked before she'd gone a mile, but she didn't care. Even her horse's hooves were pounding out his name in a deep, comforting rhythm. Sir-Guy, Sir-Guy, Sir-Guy.
Quenilda didn't know how long she'd been riding when she saw a wagon, a man and three horses clustered at the side of the road. One of the horses looked familiar, and as she slowed to a trot, she realized it was Roland – Sir Guy's horse! Glancing quickly from the stallion to the guard, she saw Osbert as well. He turned away quickly as though to hide his face, calling something into the wagon, but it was too late, she'd seen him clearly. A moment later, another guard clambered out into sight, a young man, but although he was wearing her father's livery, Quenilda did not recognize him.
"Osbert," Quenilda exclaimed as she pulled her mare to a halt. "Where is Sir Guy?"
"Oh, my lady," the old guard gushed. "What a blessing you've come! Sir Guy's had a relapse, fell right off his horse in a dead faint! We were going to bring him back to Throxenby in this wagon, but you could have a look at him now, see if he's got a fever or maybe something worse."
He put out his arms, expecting to help her out of the saddle, but Quenilda hesitated. It didn't sound right. His voice was friendly – too friendly, when she remembered how he'd spoken to her the day before at the healing spring. And Sir Guy would not have had a relapse, not now. Feeling a sudden, cold rush of fear, Quenilda glanced over her shoulder. Hopefully, Humphrey was coming along and could protect her while she risked a quick look at Sir Guy, but as far as she could see, the road behind her was empty.
The glance cost her any advantage she might have had. Osbert grabbed her waist and her left wrist and hauled her roughly out of the saddle. Too astonished at his boldness to struggle, Quenilda felt him twist her arm roughly behind her back and clamp her tightly to his chest with his other arm. The younger guard looked almost as astonished as she felt, especially when Osbert snarled, "Give her some poppy juice! Luke! Stop staring and get on with it!"
How dare they lay hand on her? And why on earth would they be giving her poppy juice when she wasn't ill or injured? It would only make her fall asleep … oh! When the young guard pulled a small bottle from his pouch and took the lid off, then approached her with the aim of getting her to drink the contents, Quenilda kicked out. But Osbert pulled her arm higher up her back until she shrieked with pain and the fear that her shoulder would be wrenched from its socket. Seizing the chance, the younger guard darted forward and forced a good dose of the liquid between her lips, then Osbert slapped his hand over her mouth and nose. Quenilda choked in her panic for breath, and after Osbert let go, all she could do was cough. She was only vaguely aware that they were tying her hands behind her back, then picking her up and shoving her into the back of the wagon like a rolled tapestry.
The wagon was already well underway by the time Quenilda was able to stop coughing and breathe normally again. Sir Guy was lying next to her, either asleep or unconscious, and tied even more tightly than she was. At least she was still awake, and could still move her legs! She could still do something, even if she wasn't sure what that something should be. With an effort, she heaved herself up to her knees, straining to keep her balance as the wagon lumbered unsteadily along. Now she could see out through the small openings at both the front and the back of the wagon. In front, there was the driver, but nobody was visible through the back. Quenilda scooted closer to that opening, scanning the road that they were leaving behind. Where was Humphrey? He should have caught up to her by now!
"Hey!" cried the driver, and then, "Luke! Osbert! She's tryin' to escape!"
A moment later, the younger guard, Luke, appeared in the opening, turning his horse so that he could lean down and peer in. When he saw Quenilda kneeling there, he drew his sword and poked it in her direction. Quenilda cried out and threw herself backwards to escape the thrust. She landed awkwardly on her bound hands, her head on Sir Guy's arm, and struggled to roll the other way. Because her emergency bag had slipped around to her front, she had to settle onto her side. When she glanced back to the opening, she could see the head of Luke's horse, bobbing along at each step. No doubt Luke would ride behind the wagon from now on in case she tried anything else. Her only hope would be that Humphrey would find her riderless horse and report back to her father, who would realize what had happened and send out a search party.
+++++
When Quenilda woke up, it was dark and the wagon had stopped. Hearing voices in the distance, she lifted her head and saw a flickering source of light off to one side. The thought of fire reminded her that she was cold and stiff, and as she tried to call out, she realized her mouth and throat were also completely dry. Running her tongue around her gums, she managed to work up enough spit to swallow and was about to cry out again when she realized it might be to her advantage if the men didn't know she was awake. Even her most stealthy movements, however, caused the wagonbed to creak.
"Who's there?" came a hoarse whisper, much too close to her head. Startled, Quenilda couldn't repress a terrified squeal, and the voice asked again, "Who is that?"
Her heart thudding painfully in her chest, Quenilda gasped for breath, then managed to say, "Sir Guy! It's Quenilda!"
Then was movement from outside and then from the back of the wagon, Osbert announced, "Somebody's awake. Luke, get more poppy juice!"
"Osbert!" Quenilda exclaimed, struggling to her knees. "Why are you doing this, why are you taking Sir Guy to Robin Hood?"
"Because of my daughter," he snarled back. "If I can't have Matilda, I can at least have my share of the fifty pounds reward that Robin Hood'll give us. Your father never offered me anything!"
Quenilda felt as though she'd been slapped for no reason, and fell silent, not sure how to answer that. Quite suddenly, there was enough light to see by; somebody came up from behind Osbert, holding a makeshift torch in one hand. By squinting beyond the flames, Quenilda could just make out the face of the younger guard as he extended a small, familiar-looking bottle. Osbert grabbed it and swung himself up onto the wagonbed, and Quenilda scooted back until her foot came into contact with Sir Guy.
"No!" she cried. "Osbert, please, I –"
"You what?" he asked.
"I have to go to the privy," she blurted out. "Please? I promise I won't try to run away, but I really need to go."
Osbert sighed, handed the bottle back to Luke, then climbed up into the wagon and lifted Quenilda out. It was still raining and the ground was muddy beneath her feet; the men had set up an awning by the side of the wagon to keep the fire dry.
"I'm certain that Sir Guy needs to go, too," she said as Osbert fumbled at the rope around her wrists.
"You first, and if you don't make any trouble, we'll see about him," said the third man from the fireside. Quenilda nodded, then sighed in relief as her hands came free. To her consternation, however, Osbert tied them again in front; not binding them tightly together, but leaving a little less than a foot of rope between them. Even worse, he knotted a noose from another rope and slipped it around her neck as though she were a cow! Quenilda opened her mouth to protest, but Osbert gave her a glare that promised something bad if she did, and so she shut it again. At long last, Osbert let her go several steps beyond the firelight and disappear behind a tree.
After having had his legs tied in a bent position for so long, it was obvious that Sir Guy could barely stand when the men hauled him out of the wagon and set him on his feet, but they still took extra precautions. Quenilda winced in sympathy as they hobbled his ankles with a short length of rope so that he could only take tiny, shuffling steps. Then they not only bound his hands in front with less slack than they had given her, but Osbert also transferred the noose from her neck to Sir Guy's as well.
It didn't take long for Sir Guy to come back, but Quenilda spent the precious few moments observing the camp and its occupants. She had no idea where they were, nor could she see any signs of the road. How far away was it? Was there any chance of them being found by her father's search party? Quenilda recalled her dream, where she had come running up just as Robin Hood killed Sir Guy. She'd thought she'd be free until she stumbled upon their camp; she hadn't reckoned on being taken prisoner, too. She tried to remember if her wrists had been bound in her dream, but that particular detail escaped her.
The man sitting at the side of the fire lifted a skin and drank from it, and Quenilda realized she was thirsty, too.
Reaching out, Quenilda stepped towards him. "May I have a drink, too, please?"
Stopping in surprise, the man considered for a moment, then handed over the skin. Quenilda took a cautious sip and discovered that it was bad ale, but she was parched enough to drink it anyway. Catching a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye, Quenilda turned to see that Sir Guy was shuffling towards the fire; she extended the ale to him as well. He managed only a few swallows, however, before Luke pulled the skin out of his hands and snarled, "That's enough!"
"Let him drink!" Quenilda protested, but it was Osbert who turned to her with a sneer. "Why should we?"
"Because –" Quenilda had been about to explain that the more ale they drank, the more it would increase the effects of the poppy juice, and the longer they would sleep, but shut her mouth as soon as she realized that such information would be helpful only to the guards, not to her and Sir Guy. Weakly, she finished, "He's thirsty, too."
"It tasted awful, anyway," Sir Guy growled, taunting them. "Can't you afford anything better?"
Luke drove his fist into Sir Guy's abdomen with such force that Sir Guy doubled over, fell to his knees, then collapsed sideways in the mud. His mouth was moving, but no sound came out, and Quenilda watched in horror as he jerked a few times before finally managing to inhale.
"Right," said Osbert. "Luke, give me the poppy juice, and hold him down."
Sir Guy reached out for Luke's foot and pulled it out from under him, sending the young man sprawling backwards into the mud. Scrambling angrily to his feet, Luke threw himself onto Sir Guy, slamming his fist into the man's face. With Osbert's help, Luke forced a dose of the poppy juice down Sir Guy's throat, then hit him a few more times until the third man gave him a sharp command to stop. Not wanting to see, yet unable to look elsewhere, Quenilda backed away until she'd cleared the awning and was standing in the rain. She wanted to run, but she didn't know which way to go. Then she realized that even if she did discover the road, she‘d be leaving Sir Guy to certain death. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped back under the awning, and when Osbert came for her, she reached out her hand.
"I will drink it without a fight," she said. He didn't give her the tiny bottle, not that she'd expected him to, but she kept her word nonetheless and did not resist when he tipped it to her lips.
Part 8
After Sir Guy's departure, the keep seemed empty and lifeless to Quenilda. The weather had turned foul and she'd been forced to stay inside instead of going out to see him off. She'd gone to her chamber, under the guise of giving Eva instructions to change the bed linens and tidy up her medicines, and had watched from the arrow-slit window as Sir Guy had ridden through the gate. He'd looked back once, and Quenilda had waved, though she knew he couldn't see her. When he was out of sight, she came away from the window with a little sigh and went to join her mother and sister in the solar.
"What do you think, Quen?" Isolda asked. "There's enough cloth here for a dress for each of us!"
As a thank you for taking care of him, or so he'd said, Sir Guy had given Quenilda a bolt of cloth, but he'd done it such a way as to include all the ladies of the household. It was a fine wool, dyed a cheerful blue, the exact same bolt that a grateful merchant had given to Sir Guy for saving his daughter from the dragon. The colour, Quenilda thought, would have looked very good on the knight, and and yet he'd chosen to leave it behind, instead of some of the other presents he'd received. Was it because blue was a colour traditionally worn for weddings? Now, Isolda had wrapped some of it around her face and shoulders, and asked Quenilda to judge the effect.
"It suits you well," Quenilda replied, and Isolda smiled. Freed from the threat of having to marry a man with such a cruel reputation, a man whose name was not Ivo, Isolda had started to relax a little in Sir Guy's presence and had even smiled that same smile for him when saying good-bye. Quenilda, on the other hand, had caught herself thinking more than once that she would rather have the man than the cloth, the man who had rescued her and slain the dragon, but was unable to hide his own vulnerability.
"How does it look on you? Mother thinks she'll trim hers with brown, or perhaps red," Isolda babbled on, unwinding the cloth and holding it out to Quenilda. "I think you won't need any such trim, what do you say, mother?"
"I could almost think that Sir Guy acquired this with you in mind," Quenilda's mother replied with a little smile. "Well, no matter, it will still make you a gown fit for a wedding."
It was some time later when Eva came to the door of the solar and addressed Quenilda. "My lady, one of the guards has been hurt, could you come and have a look at him?"
"Of course." Quenilda was glad to get away from any sewing that didn't involve stitching wounds together, so she gave her mother an apologetic curtsey and hurried after her maid. The young man was sitting in a corner of the kitchens, holding his head in his hands, and another guard was hovering protectively nearby.
"Let me see," Quenilda said, parting the man's hair to get a good look at the wound. It was sticky with dried blood.
"Owww," the guard moaned.
"Stop that," Quenilda told him, probing the area around the cut. A new trickle of blood started up, but fortunately, his skull felt intact. "You're not dying. Head wounds bleed a lot, that makes them look worse than they really are. What happened?"
"Dunno, my lady. I was just getting ready to ride out with Sir Guy like I was told to, then somebody hit me over the head. When I woke up, I was up in the loft, covered in straw, and tied hand and foot, too! My head aches something awful, and they even stole my armour and my livery, my lady!"
Quenilda froze. "You were going to ride out with Sir Guy?"
"Yes, my lady. The girl I want to marry lives a day's ride from Throxenby, and I thought we could visit her, spend the night with her family without having to pay for an inn, so when I heard that the steward was looking for somebody to ride that way, I volunteered."
"Who else was supposed to accompany Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked, and somehow wasn't surprised when the other guard said, "I was. But then one of the other guards offered me money to trade places with him, and since I'm already married and my wife here in town, I took it, of course."
"Which guard?" Quenilda asked. "Osbert?"
"Old Osbert, yeah," the other guard said, surprised that she'd guessed correctly.
"Old Osbert offered me money, too," the injured guard said. "I don't mind saying I was tempted, because it was a goodly sum, but –"
The dream hit Quenilda with all the force of a blow; a vision of Sir Guy, his hands tied behind his back, being guided through the forest by two men, and a man fitting an arrow to his bow as the men approached with Sir Guy. She knew at once that it was Robin Hood, and saw the hatred on his face as he released the arrow. Then she was in her own dream as well, falling onto her knees next to Guy's body and crying out because she'd come too late.
"No!" Quenilda cried out, and became aware of her surroundings again. The guards were looking at her in confusion and the injured one moaned, "My lady? Am I going to die?"
"Not you," Quenilda said absently, still reeling. "Eva, get my things—no. Either take him to Albreda or fetch her here. I have to –"
She stopped, and Eva asked, "What do you have to do, my lady?"
Quenilda didn't want to answer just then. She straightened up and ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs to the passage that led to the great hall. Her father was there, sitting at the high table and listening to two men fighting over a matter that seemed to involve sheep. When he was busy with administrational duties, the Earl had strict instructions about who could interrupt him, and why, none of which applied at this moment. He looked up in surprised annoyance when Quenilda came bursting in, and Quenilda stopped, abashed. "Forgive me, father," she said, then curtsied and slowed her pace to something more sedate and womanly. It was only after she'd crossed the hall and exited that she realized she hadn't used his title, even though others had been present. But then she glanced towards the steps and saw Thurstan making his way carefully down.
"Grandfather!"
"Quenilda," he said, smiling as she took his arm. "I've just had a dream."
"So have I," she broke in, leading Thurstan back up the stairs again. "Come to my chamber, grandfather, I've also found out something very disturbing."
"What?"
"The Earl asked for two guards to accompany Sir Guy," Quenilda explained. "But Osbert the guard gave money to one of those guards to take his place, and the other guard was hit over the head, tied hand and foot, and left in the loft! Somebody also took his armour and his livery, and if it wasn't Osbert, then it must have been somebody working with him!"
"That would help explain my dream," Thurstan mused as they entered Quenilda's chamber. "Two men were guiding Sir Guy through a forest, then they came to Robin Hood. Hood shot an arrow at him–"
"And I was there, but I came too late," Quenilda said, but Thurstan shook his head. "No, you were already there."
"I was already there? Oh!" Quenilda exclaimed, and catching her hopeful tone of voice, her grandfather asked, "Oh? What, oh?"
"I had almost the same dream, except for the end. I dreamed that I arrived too late and Robin Hood had already killed Sir Guy!"
"Robin Hood killed Sir Guy?" her grandfather asked sharply. "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure," Quenilda replied, but when her grandfather's worried expression didn't change, she added, "At the end of the dream, I was kneeling next to his body and I knew I'd come too late. I was crying because of it."
Thurstan relaxed slightly, then mused, "Two dreams that start out the same and then end differently. I've never had that before."
"It must mean something!" Quenilda exclaimed. She strolled to her clothes chest and opened the lid as she spoke. "It must mean that I can keep Robin Hood from killing Sir Guy if I get there fast enough! I must go!"
"Granddaughter—" Thustan said slowly, and his voice held an ominous note that made Quenilda stop and straighten up to look at him. "I didn't tell you the rest of my dream. You were already there, standing between Robin Hood and Sir Guy, when Robin Hood shot his arrow."
Quenilda hadn't known how buoyant her heart had become until she felt it sink. "You mean he killed me? Robin Hood killed me instead of Sir Guy, by accident, because I got there in time?"
"I did not see your death," Thurstan said. "I saw the arrow fly. I hope it does not mean what I think it does." He whirled away from her, strolling towards the window, then hit the wall next to it with his fist. "Sometimes I hate this sight! It never shows me what I want to see!"
"But there's hope, there must be!" Quenilda exclaimed. She reached into the chest and pulled out her cloak, then shook it free of its folds. "If you didn't see it, then it might not happen! Robin Hood might aim differently at the last moment, or only wound me, not kill me."
"There's always hope, but I wish you wouldn't be so eager to reach for the thinnest strand of it," Thurstan said.
"I have to go," she replied. She didn't say that she wanted to go; she didn't have to. Instead, she added weakly, "We both dreamed that I was there."
"I know," her grandfather said, and the simple statement encompassed everything.
Quenilda strolled to the table and grabbed her emergency bag, which was always packed with herbal supplies, then slipped the strap over her head and one shoulder. Hearing her movements, Thurstan turned in her direction, holding out his hands, but even as she took them, he let go and put his arms around her instead.
"I wish you could come with me," Quenilda said, hugging him tightly.
Thurstan hugged back, then pushed her away, and she could feel what he did not say. She knew that he regretted not being able to accompany her, help her, and especially protect her, that he was sad she had to go at all, but if she were to have any hope at all, she had to go now, and quickly. Pulling her cloak on, she took time for one last look at him, then went out.
At the stables, Quenilda gave instructions to one of the boys, then caught sight of someone who could come along. "Humphrey! Saddle yourself a horse; you must accompany me!"
He stopped and stared at her, but Quenilda was already whirling away, secure in the knowledge that Humphrey was solidly dependable, no matter how he might sigh or appear otherwise reluctant. As soon as her mount was ready, Quenilda let the stable boy give her a leg up into the saddle, then told him, "Tell Humphrey he's to follow me along the road that leads to Nottingham, as fast as he can!"
"Yes, my lady," the boy replied, and Quenilda spurred the mare into a trot even before she'd passed the gate. Once outside of the town and on the open road, she switched to a gallop, no longer caring when or even if Humphrey caught up with her, but thinking only of Sir Guy. The wind drove the rain into her face and she was soaked before she'd gone a mile, but she didn't care. Even her horse's hooves were pounding out his name in a deep, comforting rhythm. Sir-Guy, Sir-Guy, Sir-Guy.
Quenilda didn't know how long she'd been riding when she saw a wagon, a man and three horses clustered at the side of the road. One of the horses looked familiar, and as she slowed to a trot, she realized it was Roland – Sir Guy's horse! Glancing quickly from the stallion to the guard, she saw Osbert as well. He turned away quickly as though to hide his face, calling something into the wagon, but it was too late, she'd seen him clearly. A moment later, another guard clambered out into sight, a young man, but although he was wearing her father's livery, Quenilda did not recognize him.
"Osbert," Quenilda exclaimed as she pulled her mare to a halt. "Where is Sir Guy?"
"Oh, my lady," the old guard gushed. "What a blessing you've come! Sir Guy's had a relapse, fell right off his horse in a dead faint! We were going to bring him back to Throxenby in this wagon, but you could have a look at him now, see if he's got a fever or maybe something worse."
He put out his arms, expecting to help her out of the saddle, but Quenilda hesitated. It didn't sound right. His voice was friendly – too friendly, when she remembered how he'd spoken to her the day before at the healing spring. And Sir Guy would not have had a relapse, not now. Feeling a sudden, cold rush of fear, Quenilda glanced over her shoulder. Hopefully, Humphrey was coming along and could protect her while she risked a quick look at Sir Guy, but as far as she could see, the road behind her was empty.
The glance cost her any advantage she might have had. Osbert grabbed her waist and her left wrist and hauled her roughly out of the saddle. Too astonished at his boldness to struggle, Quenilda felt him twist her arm roughly behind her back and clamp her tightly to his chest with his other arm. The younger guard looked almost as astonished as she felt, especially when Osbert snarled, "Give her some poppy juice! Luke! Stop staring and get on with it!"
How dare they lay hand on her? And why on earth would they be giving her poppy juice when she wasn't ill or injured? It would only make her fall asleep … oh! When the young guard pulled a small bottle from his pouch and took the lid off, then approached her with the aim of getting her to drink the contents, Quenilda kicked out. But Osbert pulled her arm higher up her back until she shrieked with pain and the fear that her shoulder would be wrenched from its socket. Seizing the chance, the younger guard darted forward and forced a good dose of the liquid between her lips, then Osbert slapped his hand over her mouth and nose. Quenilda choked in her panic for breath, and after Osbert let go, all she could do was cough. She was only vaguely aware that they were tying her hands behind her back, then picking her up and shoving her into the back of the wagon like a rolled tapestry.
The wagon was already well underway by the time Quenilda was able to stop coughing and breathe normally again. Sir Guy was lying next to her, either asleep or unconscious, and tied even more tightly than she was. At least she was still awake, and could still move her legs! She could still do something, even if she wasn't sure what that something should be. With an effort, she heaved herself up to her knees, straining to keep her balance as the wagon lumbered unsteadily along. Now she could see out through the small openings at both the front and the back of the wagon. In front, there was the driver, but nobody was visible through the back. Quenilda scooted closer to that opening, scanning the road that they were leaving behind. Where was Humphrey? He should have caught up to her by now!
"Hey!" cried the driver, and then, "Luke! Osbert! She's tryin' to escape!"
A moment later, the younger guard, Luke, appeared in the opening, turning his horse so that he could lean down and peer in. When he saw Quenilda kneeling there, he drew his sword and poked it in her direction. Quenilda cried out and threw herself backwards to escape the thrust. She landed awkwardly on her bound hands, her head on Sir Guy's arm, and struggled to roll the other way. Because her emergency bag had slipped around to her front, she had to settle onto her side. When she glanced back to the opening, she could see the head of Luke's horse, bobbing along at each step. No doubt Luke would ride behind the wagon from now on in case she tried anything else. Her only hope would be that Humphrey would find her riderless horse and report back to her father, who would realize what had happened and send out a search party.
+++++
When Quenilda woke up, it was dark and the wagon had stopped. Hearing voices in the distance, she lifted her head and saw a flickering source of light off to one side. The thought of fire reminded her that she was cold and stiff, and as she tried to call out, she realized her mouth and throat were also completely dry. Running her tongue around her gums, she managed to work up enough spit to swallow and was about to cry out again when she realized it might be to her advantage if the men didn't know she was awake. Even her most stealthy movements, however, caused the wagonbed to creak.
"Who's there?" came a hoarse whisper, much too close to her head. Startled, Quenilda couldn't repress a terrified squeal, and the voice asked again, "Who is that?"
Her heart thudding painfully in her chest, Quenilda gasped for breath, then managed to say, "Sir Guy! It's Quenilda!"
Then was movement from outside and then from the back of the wagon, Osbert announced, "Somebody's awake. Luke, get more poppy juice!"
"Osbert!" Quenilda exclaimed, struggling to her knees. "Why are you doing this, why are you taking Sir Guy to Robin Hood?"
"Because of my daughter," he snarled back. "If I can't have Matilda, I can at least have my share of the fifty pounds reward that Robin Hood'll give us. Your father never offered me anything!"
Quenilda felt as though she'd been slapped for no reason, and fell silent, not sure how to answer that. Quite suddenly, there was enough light to see by; somebody came up from behind Osbert, holding a makeshift torch in one hand. By squinting beyond the flames, Quenilda could just make out the face of the younger guard as he extended a small, familiar-looking bottle. Osbert grabbed it and swung himself up onto the wagonbed, and Quenilda scooted back until her foot came into contact with Sir Guy.
"No!" she cried. "Osbert, please, I –"
"You what?" he asked.
"I have to go to the privy," she blurted out. "Please? I promise I won't try to run away, but I really need to go."
Osbert sighed, handed the bottle back to Luke, then climbed up into the wagon and lifted Quenilda out. It was still raining and the ground was muddy beneath her feet; the men had set up an awning by the side of the wagon to keep the fire dry.
"I'm certain that Sir Guy needs to go, too," she said as Osbert fumbled at the rope around her wrists.
"You first, and if you don't make any trouble, we'll see about him," said the third man from the fireside. Quenilda nodded, then sighed in relief as her hands came free. To her consternation, however, Osbert tied them again in front; not binding them tightly together, but leaving a little less than a foot of rope between them. Even worse, he knotted a noose from another rope and slipped it around her neck as though she were a cow! Quenilda opened her mouth to protest, but Osbert gave her a glare that promised something bad if she did, and so she shut it again. At long last, Osbert let her go several steps beyond the firelight and disappear behind a tree.
After having had his legs tied in a bent position for so long, it was obvious that Sir Guy could barely stand when the men hauled him out of the wagon and set him on his feet, but they still took extra precautions. Quenilda winced in sympathy as they hobbled his ankles with a short length of rope so that he could only take tiny, shuffling steps. Then they not only bound his hands in front with less slack than they had given her, but Osbert also transferred the noose from her neck to Sir Guy's as well.
It didn't take long for Sir Guy to come back, but Quenilda spent the precious few moments observing the camp and its occupants. She had no idea where they were, nor could she see any signs of the road. How far away was it? Was there any chance of them being found by her father's search party? Quenilda recalled her dream, where she had come running up just as Robin Hood killed Sir Guy. She'd thought she'd be free until she stumbled upon their camp; she hadn't reckoned on being taken prisoner, too. She tried to remember if her wrists had been bound in her dream, but that particular detail escaped her.
The man sitting at the side of the fire lifted a skin and drank from it, and Quenilda realized she was thirsty, too.
Reaching out, Quenilda stepped towards him. "May I have a drink, too, please?"
Stopping in surprise, the man considered for a moment, then handed over the skin. Quenilda took a cautious sip and discovered that it was bad ale, but she was parched enough to drink it anyway. Catching a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye, Quenilda turned to see that Sir Guy was shuffling towards the fire; she extended the ale to him as well. He managed only a few swallows, however, before Luke pulled the skin out of his hands and snarled, "That's enough!"
"Let him drink!" Quenilda protested, but it was Osbert who turned to her with a sneer. "Why should we?"
"Because –" Quenilda had been about to explain that the more ale they drank, the more it would increase the effects of the poppy juice, and the longer they would sleep, but shut her mouth as soon as she realized that such information would be helpful only to the guards, not to her and Sir Guy. Weakly, she finished, "He's thirsty, too."
"It tasted awful, anyway," Sir Guy growled, taunting them. "Can't you afford anything better?"
Luke drove his fist into Sir Guy's abdomen with such force that Sir Guy doubled over, fell to his knees, then collapsed sideways in the mud. His mouth was moving, but no sound came out, and Quenilda watched in horror as he jerked a few times before finally managing to inhale.
"Right," said Osbert. "Luke, give me the poppy juice, and hold him down."
Sir Guy reached out for Luke's foot and pulled it out from under him, sending the young man sprawling backwards into the mud. Scrambling angrily to his feet, Luke threw himself onto Sir Guy, slamming his fist into the man's face. With Osbert's help, Luke forced a dose of the poppy juice down Sir Guy's throat, then hit him a few more times until the third man gave him a sharp command to stop. Not wanting to see, yet unable to look elsewhere, Quenilda backed away until she'd cleared the awning and was standing in the rain. She wanted to run, but she didn't know which way to go. Then she realized that even if she did discover the road, she‘d be leaving Sir Guy to certain death. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped back under the awning, and when Osbert came for her, she reached out her hand.
"I will drink it without a fight," she said. He didn't give her the tiny bottle, not that she'd expected him to, but she kept her word nonetheless and did not resist when he tipped it to her lips.
Part 8