Ivanhoe Gambit

8

The sheriff sat at the table in his chambers at Nottingham Castle, scratching his head and frowning. He poured himself another goblet of wine to help him think. He was an extremely large man and very muscular, a giant by the standards of his time. He towered over the man who paced the floor in his chambers, but that did not change the fact that this man intimidated him. The sheriff scratched his square, clean-shaven jaw and his slate gray eyes never left the pacing man. Richard had changed since he had returned from the Crusades. The sheriff, who was senior to his king in age (or so he thought) by a good ten years, decided that fighting Saladin had matured Richard. Always fiery, fierce and impetuous, the Lion Heart was now tempered with maturity. He had developed cunning and a cold, methodical ruthlessness that impressed him greatly.

"Damn me for a dullard, Sire, I still don't understand," he said.

Irving, dressed as the black knight, although sans his armor, stopped his pacing for a moment. He looked at the sheriff much the way a patient schoolteacher might gaze upon an inordinately slow pupil.

"All right, Guy. I shall explain it once again, but listen carefully this time. John has obtained a great deal of power in my absence. He now holds both York and Ashby and he has reassigned the lands of many of my faithful knights to his own followers. He has his own men at arms, whose number he has significantly increased, as well as the lances of De Bracy and his Free Companions. He also has the formidable Templar, Bois-Guilbert, in his good graces and Sir Brian has but to snap his fingers and the knights at the Preceptory of Templestowe will be at his beck and call. John has granted them complete autonomy within their province and they will be anxious to protect their interests against me. My differences with the Knights Templars and the Knights of St. John in the Holy Land will not aid my cause.

"I have my loyal followers," he continued. "I have Andre de la Croix in John's camp; I have you, Sir Guy, and your well trained men at arms, but we are still vastly outnumbered. I cannot afford to take direct action against my brother at this time. There are yet other forces about who seek to bring us down. The time to strike is not yet ripe. You and I must make it so."

"This much I understand," the sheriff said, "but I do not see the purpose served by the abduction of this Saxon and his party. Will it not serve to alienate the people from our cause?"

"Oh, think, Guy, for pity's sake!" said Irving. "To what end does de la Croix impersonate De Bracy? How do you think the people will respond when it becomes known that De Bracy, John's paid vassal, attacked a Saxon lord, carrying off not only Cedric, but Athelstane and Rowena, the last of the royal Saxon lines? For what reason did your men at arms who accompanied Sir Andre wear lincoln green?"

"It would make them appear as outlaws," Guy said. "But then, if you want it thought that outlaws did the deed, why dress Sir Andre as De Bracy?"

"Think, Guy! Must I explain everything to you?"

The sheriff put on a heavy expression of concentration.

"Stop that," Irving said. "You look as though you're suffering from piles."

The sheriff stopped frowning and shrugged.

Irving sighed. "Very well. I will explain it to you. And you will feel heartily ashamed for not seeing it yourself. Why is it that you have had so little success in bringing the Saxon outlaws to justice?"

"Because they are led by the cleverest shrew who ever-"

"Spare me. I have no desire to hear of your marital difficulties. They enjoy their liberty only because they know the forests better than your men at arms and because they are supported by the people, who see them as figures of romance."

"Yes, I've heard those silly songs about their robbing from the rich and giving to the poor," said Guy. "Alan-a-dale should be hung for his minstrelcy if for nothing else. Yet, those songs always fail to mention that these wolf's heads deduct a goodly percentage of their plunder for themselves."

"Be that as it may," said Irving, "the people love them because they rob the Normans. The Saxons are taxed into penury and they are grateful to see their oppressors suffer any disadvantage. Occasionally, these outlaws might beard some wealthy Saxon, but it is another thing entirely if it should become known that they have taken to working hand in hand with mercenary knights, abducting Saxon women and holding them for ransom. And rest assured, we will make it known. In such an event, the affection that the people bear these outlaws would begin to wane somewhat, would it not?"

"How does that help us?" said Sir Guy.

"It prepares the people to greet us with open arms when we come to free them from such tyranny," said Irving. "It also puts the forest outlaws at a disadvantage. They would have to prove themselves innocent. What better way to do this than to confront De Bracy?"

"But Sir Maurice will deny it all."

"Do you expect the Saxons to believe him?"

"So while De Bracy and his Free Companions are beset by outlaws, we move against Prince John with the odds for our success being much improved."

"There, you see? Was that so difficult to reason out?"

"But there still remains a problem," said Sir Guy. "Cedric and his party will know the truth of the matter."

"Will they?" Irving said. "Even as we speak, de la Croix delivers Cedric and his party to Nottingham Castle. The Saxons will be bound and blindfolded. They will have no idea where they are. Andre de la Croix, in the guise of Sir Maurice, will see to it that they are safely locked away within our dungeons. They will never know that it was not De Bracy who had taken them."

"But surely De Bracy will have some response when he is accused?" the sheriff said.

"What does that matter? By that time, it will be too late. Of course, there is always the possibility that the truth will eventually emerge. But then, the dead do not tell tales, do they? The prisoners will have to be dispatched when the time comes. It is regrettable, but their lives will have to be forfeit to affairs of state. We are fighting for a throne and the welfare of England is at stake. As for De Bracy, you leave him to de la Croix."

The sheriff shook his head in admiration. "You seem to have thought of everything, Sire."

"Not quite everything," said Irving. "At least, not yet. There are other matters I must see to presently, for which purpose I must now retire and contemplate. See to it that I am not disturbed."

"As you command, Sire."

Irving left the sheriff and made his way to his private chambers in the castle tower. His remark to Sir Guy had not been merely an excuse; he needed time to think. He was growing worried. He reached his chambers and closed the door behind him, then shot the bolt. Wearily, he threw himself down upon the bed.

He had to tread with extreme care. If possible, he needed to take at least one of the adjustment team alive. That opportunity had not yet presented itself. He needed enough time to make the snatch, and to convey one of them to Nottingham, where he could use the fine equipment in the dungeons to discover the location of the adjustment referee. Once he accomplished that, it would all be over. But he had to be extremely careful. He had failed each time before. The men had died before divulging the necessary information.

His past was absolute. He knew that clocking back once more would not create a paradox if history remained unchanged. Yet, that was the very game that he was playing. He had to be supremely cautious, staying within the limits he had set for himself.

He knew that small actions taken in the past were canceled out in the flow of time. Any small ripple in the timeline became evened out through the inertia of the flow. Traveling back into the past and taking an action that would significantly change history, or clocking back to confront oneself would cause a more significant ripple in the timestream. At that point, the timeline would be split, creating an alternate timeline running parallel with the absolute past. Each such instance created yet another parallel timeline and, theoretically, this could go on ad infinitum. However, a split timeline had to eventually rejoin. This action would occur at some point beyond the action taken to create the split.

This was what Mensinger had cited in his famous work on "The Fate Factor." He had used the "grandfather paradox" to illustrate his point. The grandfather paradox postulated a fascinating dilemma, a riddle that had not been solved until Mensinger had proved the potential for parallel timelines. The paradox stated that if you went back into the past and altered the history of your grandfather, killing him before he ever met your grandmother, then he would never have met and married your grandmother. Your father, then, would not have been born and, consequently, you would not have been born. And if you were never born, how could you go back into the past to kill your grandfather?

Conventional wisdom had held that it was impossible to create such a paradox, at least until Mensinger had proved that it was. It had been believed that since you were born and since your past was absolute, something in the past would have prevented your taking your grandfather's life. However, given the potential for parallel timelines, it was very possible, indeed.

Mensinger hypothesized that if you went back into the past to kill your grandfather and succeeded in so doing, the action would create a ripple in the timestream, a split in the timeline. Since there had to exist an absolute past in which your grandfather did not die, a past in which he met your grandmother, married her and procreated your father, which action led to your own birth; that past was absolute for you taking the action and could not be changed, since the past had to occur before you took action to change it. Once you took that action, a parallel timeline was created, one in which your grandfather had died. These two timelines, the one which represented your absolute past and the one which you had created by your action, ran parallel to one another in a linear fashion.

Yet, these two timelines had to rejoin at some point in the future. The danger therein lay in the fact that in the timeline in which your grandfather had died, there existed the distinct possibility that your grandmother would marry someone else. She could very possibly give birth to someone other than your father, which action progressively led to other events. Theoretically, wrote Mensinger, the timelines would become rejoined when the traveler to the past returned to the future (or the present) from which he came. However, he wrote, given some common degree of longevity on the part of the two grandmothers in the parallel timelines, when these timelines rejoined, there existed the possibility that grandmother would be duplicated, sharing with her twin an absolute past prior to the split. This raised all sorts of fascinating possibilities.

Mensinger's "Fate Factor" came into play at the point at which the split in the timeline was created. The moment that the action taken to create the split occurred, the future was in flux, creating an infinite number of potential scenarios. Any disruption in the timestream, like eddies caused by throwing a rock into the water, had to eventually respond to the inertia of the flow. The inertia of time, on the grand scale, worked to minimize the effects of such disruptions. This was the "Fate Factor." However, according to Mensinger, the grand scale in terms of time was not necessarily what would be defined as a grand scale in human terms. Disasters on the human scale were possible. Significant changes at the point of the rejoining could occur.

Irving had thought that he had spotted a flaw in Mensinger's theory. He had become obsessed with it. Mensinger had postulated that parallel timelines would rejoin when the traveler to the past returned to the time from which he came. In such an instance, the rejoining of the timelines would most likely have abrupt and jarring effects. However, what would happen if the traveler to the past did not return at all to the time from which he came? Suppose this traveler lived out the remainder of his life in the parallel timeline which he created. Would it not be possible, in that event, for the timelines to eventually rejoin at some point far beyond the point from which the time traveler departed? On the grand scale of time, there had to be a point at which past history was insignificant, unknown completely to the people living in that time, much as the history of man in his most primitive stages was totally unknown to modern scholars. Under such circumstances, could history not be changed to the benefit of all mankind? Irving had discussed his theory with other referees, which he now knew had been a great mistake. He had expected that they would agree with him wholeheartedly, but such had not been the case. They had argued that taking such an action could have disastrous consequences, that he had misinterpreted Mensinger's work. In order for his theory to prove valid, they had argued, it would be necessary for him to exert a continuous influence upon the timeline. Even though, as he hypothesized, he would travel into the past never to return, the parallel timelines would have to come together the moment his splitting influence ceased to become a factor. The moment that he died, they said, the rejoining would occur. There was no chance of the grand scale split which he proposed.

He could not accept that. He could not accept that his influence, the role that he had played, would end with his demise. They were wrong. He would prove them wrong.

The single mistake that he had made was in sharing his theory with the other referees. They were fools, bogged down in their bureaucratic roles, interpreting the moves of pawns upon time's chessboard. They shook as if with ague at the very possibility of an upset in the flow. They were totally incapable of making the intuitive leap that was so necessary to the great discovery. As had always happened in the past, they-with their feet firmly planted in the mud-decried the attempts that he, the visionary, made to transcend the boundaries of ignorance. Genius is never appreciated in its own time, thought Irving. He chuckled. He had put a new slant on that cliche.

Once he became the king, once the interference of the adjustment teams was ended, there would be no limit to what he could accomplish. He never should have told them, never. He had given them ammunition against himself, warned them of what might happen. They had been prepared to move against him and they had moved against him before he could affect the changes he had planned. If he was not careful, very careful, if he made even one mistake, they could still win.

But he would not make any mistakes.

Hooker was convinced that something had gone wrong.

The plan had been for Lucas to secure a place in Cedric's party and, at the very first opportunity, to reveal himself as Ivanhoe to Cedric. Whichever way things went from there, whether Gedric would forgive his "son" following his change of heart or whether he would remain intractable, Lucas was not to continue on to Rotherwood, but to return to Isaac's house and to reclaim his squire and armor. He was to repay Isaac the loan plus the interest-which was exceedingly high, doubtless owing less to Isaac's greed than to the fact that John was bleeding him dry-and from there they were to proceed to Sherwood for a rendezvous with Finn and Bobby. Ideally, if those two had managed to establish their position with the merry men, they would then use them to make inquiries concerning the whereabouts of the black knight.

But Lucas was overdue.

He should have been back by morning or, at the latest, by the afternoon. Now it was growing dark outside and Lucas still had not returned. Something must have happened.

He had to get his hands on the nysteel armor. The only problem was, Isaac was jealously protecting it. There was an additional problem in that he didn't have a horse. Finding a horse presented no great difficulty, but he still had to get away from Isaac. Technically, he was Isaac's property for the duration, until Lucas came to redeem him. As such, he was Isaac's guest, kept in a small room that was sparse and spartan, although clean. Bondsmen, as the collar on his neck identified him, were notorious for running away at first opportunity. His station was somewhat better than that of the average bondsman in that he served a knight, but he was still that knight's property. Isaac treated him well, seeing to it that he was fed and comfortable, which cost had been included in the interest, but Isaac felt that it was his responsibility to see to it that Hooker was still there when the white knight came to call for his belongings. He had two choices. He could escape and search for Lucas on his own, or he could attempt to persuade Isaac to assist him.

The latter prospect did not seem to present an insurmountable problem. Isaac had been planning on journeying back to York. He would have been en route already had not Lucas presented him with a business opportunity, one that promised not to delay him overlong. The story Lucas had given Isaac had not been too far from the truth, at least insofar as their cover story was concerned. He had told Isaac that he had family nearby, which would be Cedric, and that since he had enemies among the Normans, he had to contact his family discreetly. The vow which he had taken would be fulfilled when he once again rejoined his family and then he could reveal himself in his true identity. Isaac had accepted that. Vows were very much in vogue and many of them seemed peculiar. They served, more often than not, merely to lend an air of glamor to the knights who took them. If Isaac could be persuaded that something had happened to Lucas, perhaps he would begin his journey to York, taking Hooker and the armor with him and retracing the route that Lucas was to have taken. The merchant would not travel alone. He would hire porters and guards, thereby making the trip safer not only for himself but for Hooker as well. After seeing his own corpse, Hooker had no desire to remain alone and vulnerable.

Asking Isaac directly did not seem to be the best course to take. It would be better to work on the young Rebecca.

She came to see him when she brought his meals. It was a function that should have been delegated to a servant, but Rebecca had her own reasons for bringing him his food herself. She wanted to find out more about the mysterious white knight, the handsome stranger who had defeated all the Normans at the tournament and who acted like no knight she had ever seen, quoting the prophet Isaiah in Hebrew.

At first, Hooker thought that revealing his knowledge of Hebrew had been a mistake for Lucas. Time commandos routinely had to speak in many different languages, which was facilitated by the implant programming. It became quite automatic, so that a soldier could not only speak in virtually any language, but think in it as well. It was imperative to a soldier's survival. Lucas might not even have intended to speak in Hebrew. Given such linguistic versatility, it was easy to slip if caught off guard. The natural tendency, if reciting a quotation, would be to do so in the original language rather than to translate it. It was the sort of thing soldiers had to be on guard against. But Rebecca was more than enough to catch anyone off guard.

She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman Hooker had ever laid eyes on. He was still young, not yet a true veteran of the time wars and his service had been such that he had not had anything in the way of significant contact with women on the Minus side. He was used to modern women. The demure Rebecca, whose mercurial temper he had caught a glimpse of when she had chased off the physicians who had wanted to bleed Lucas, was quite unlike anyone he had ever met. One moment, she displayed all the spirit and vitality of the modern woman, the next, she was reserved and shy, a woman all too aware of the place she had been relegated to not only by her sex, but by her faith. She was a woman, real, tangible and indisputably human, but at the same time, she was to Hooker an embodiment of a romantic memory, a product of a simpler and more ethereal time. To the impressionable young corporal, she represented the romance which he had sought when he enlisted in the Temporal Corps. And, reality not withstanding, he was falling in love with her.

"How did your master learn the Hebrew tongue?" she asked him. "It is not knowledge one gains quickly. On your oath, now, speak the truth! Can it be that the white knight is, indeed, a Jew?"

"A Jew!" said Hooker. "How would a Jew come to embrace knighthood?"

"I do not know," she said. "It is a mystery. Yet, even though it is forbidden, it is not unheard of for a Jew to enter into a union outside the faith. A powerful love could perhaps accomplish such a thing, although it would be wrong. If a child were born of a Jewish father and a mother who was not a Jewess, then, in the eyes of our faith, that child would not be a true Jew. Our people have been sorely used and…" she blushed, "it sometimes came to pass that a child would be born of… of force and the father would not be known."

"But my master's father is known," said Hooker. "And Cedric the Saxon is no Jew."

"Cedric the Saxon! So your master is a Saxon, then!"

"Rebecca, I have already said too much," said Hooker.

"Oh, Poignard, I beg you, tell me his name! The secret would be safe with me. I would carry it with me to my grave if such were your master's wishes, on my God, I swear it!"

Hooker took her hand. "Very well, then, Rebecca, I will tell you. And you need not swear, for I believe you are in earnest. My master has long been away on the Crusades, fighting with the king to free the Holy Land. In truth, he does not speak Hebrew, he has but some knowledge of the tongue. He consoled himself with studies, learning what he could upon his travels to keep his mind from brooding, because he had a broken heart. Cedric was ill pleased when his son chose to follow Richard, for Cedric is a prideful Saxon and he does not love the Normans. But my master saw that Richard was a fair and noble man and that he thought of English people as his subjects, to be treated equally, not as Normans superior to Saxons. A people can only be strong when they are unified. Richard went to free the Holy Land because he felt that it was just and right. Cedric thinks only of freeing Saxons from the Normans.”

"So he has displeased his father and his heart is broken," said Rebecca.

"His heart was broken because his love was doomed," said Hooker, hating himself for manipulating her. "My master was in love with Cedric's ward, Rowena, who is promised to another."

"You say he was in love?" Rebecca said, unable to hide the note of hope in her voice.

"Perhaps it was merely lust, though it is truly not my place to say," said Hooker. "Forbidden fruit sometimes seems sweeter. My master has come home a tired, but wiser man. He now understands that there are more important things than lustful passions."

"You still have not told me his name," Rebecca said. "Cedric the Saxon is unknown to me. I do not know by what name he calls his son."

"Wilfred," Hooker said. "Wilfred of Ivanhoe. A noble knight to whom the king, in recognition of his service, has granted a barony. Yet, with Richard away, Prince John has seized the reins of power and has taken away the lands of many of Richard's faithful knights. Just as Prince John steals from Isaac, taking loans which are really tribute, so he has stolen from my master. Ivanhoe has come to aid the king in getting back his throne and, should his identity be known, John and his followers would try to stop him. Even now, Rebecca, I fear for his safety. He should have returned by now. He has gone to secure from Cedric his pardon and the monies to repay your father's loan. I fear something has happened to him. Perhaps he was attacked by outlaws, or thrown from his horse to lie senseless on the road somewhere. And here I sit, unable to go and search for him or help him!"

"Then you must depart at once," Rebecca said. "Find him, Poignard!"

"I cannot," said Hooker, averting his eyes. He couldn't look at her. She was so obviously infatuated with Lucas and he was using that against her. It wasn't fair. If she only felt that way for him, he'd desert the service, convert to Judaism and… but that was unthinkable. He had to control his emotions. He was a soldier and he had a job to do.

"But you must go seek him out!" Rebecca said.

"I am given in pledge to your father, along with my master's arms," said Hooker. "If I were to leave now, I would be an escaped bondsman and the penalty for that is severe."

"My father would not declare you outlaw," said Rebecca. "Who would listen to a Jew? And I would make him understand that-"

"It is no use, Rebecca," Hooker said. "I cannot go. My master has given his word that I will remain with Isaac and remain I must."

"Perhaps there is another way," Rebecca said. "We must go to York. We would have left already had not my father business with Sir Wilfred. We could leave at once and take the same road taken by your master. That way, if he is somewhere injured on the road, we would be sure to find him. And if not, we could leave word here for him to seek us out at York. Since you would remain with us, your master's pledge would not be broken and we could inquire about him on the way."

"But would Isaac do this?" Hooker said.

"I will convince him," said Rebecca. "Surely, he will see that he has more to gain by such an act and, if Wilfred is in trouble, it is only right that we should try to aid him. If King Richard is, indeed, as fair and noble as you say, perhaps he would treat us more kindly than does his brother, John."

"If you help Ivanhoe, then you help Richard," Hooker said. "And you will find that the king will not be ungrateful."

Simon Hawke

Ivanhoe Gambit

"I will go and speak to my father at once," Rebecca said.

When she had left, Hooker sighed and looked miserably at the food which she had brought him. Suddenly, he had no appetite.

Maurice De Bracy and Brian de Bois-Guilbert rode slowly with a small company of men on the road that led through the forest to Torquilstone. They were in a festive mood. The sun was high and so were their spirits. De Bracy planned yet another banquet, to celebrate his new status as lord of the manor at Torquilstone. They had been riding for several hours when they came upon an unusual scene.

It was Isaac of York and his party, or what had been his party. Lacking men at arms to insure the loyalty of the guards and porters he had hired, Isaac had been taken by his retainers. He had paid them half the sum in advance, the rest to be paid upon the safe delivery of himself and his goods, but these men felt that half the sum left them ahead of the game if they did not have to chance running across the outlaws of the forest. They had managed to make off with the horses and most of his belongings, but not without a price. Hooker had accounted for three of them before being wounded himself. What De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert beheld was a scene consisting of three corpses with daggers protruding from them, Hooker sitting on the ground and being tended to by Rebecca, and Isaac standing in the middle of the road and wailing.

"It is that Jew, Isaac of York," De Bracy said, "and the woman is his daughter, she to whom that white-garbed Saxon knight paid tribute at the tournament. The man who is with them I know not."

"Oh, gallant knights," wailed Isaac, running up to them and wringing his hands, "take pity on a poor Jew who has been robbed and abandoned on this lonely road! My hired porters have taken flight, fleeing with my worldly goods, leaving myself and my daughter at the mercy of the forest brigands! Surely, it is your Christian duty to stop and give aid to such as we, for-"

"Dog of an infidel!" said De Bracy. "You speak to us of Christian duty? You of that accursed race who killed Our Saviour? What care I if you've been robbed, you who have robbed so many with your usury?"

Isaac looked stricken. "No, no, valiant lords, I did not mean to give offence! Please do not desert poor stranded travelers such as we!" He clutched at De Bracy's stirrup. "We must make our way to York and if only-"

De Bracy kicked him away. "To hell with you and your whole tribe! Count yourself lucky that I do not run you down for daring to lay hands upon me!"

Bois-Guilbert reached over and touched De Bracy on the shoulder. "Hold your temper, Maurice. Let us not be too hasty, lest we waste an opportunity. This Jew is rich. It would only be our Christian duty to relieve him of his ill-gotten gains. Why not take him to Torquilstone and there make him pay ransom for his freedom?"

The color drained from Isaac's face and his mouth worked soundlessly.

"Why not, indeed?" De Bracy said. "And since we found this dog together, we can split the prize."

Bois-Guilbert smiled. "I will offer you a bargain, Maurice. Take this offal and do with him what you will to pry his riches from him. For myself, I would lay sole claim to the pretty Jewess to warm my bed at Torquilstone."

"Done," said DeBracy.

"No! No!" screamed Isaac. "I beg you, take me and do with me what you will, but spare my daughter! Do not dishonor a helpless maiden! I beseech you, do not bring her to ruin and humiliation! She is the very image of my deceased Rachael, the last of the six pledges of her love! Would you deprive a widowed father of his sole remaining comfort? Would you soil-"

"Be still, you whining baggage!" said De Bracy, leaning down and fetching Isaac a tremendous clout upon the head. Isaac fell to the ground, unconscious.

Sitting where he was, Hooker could not hear the exchange between Isaac and the two knights, but he recognized De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert at the head of their party and knew there could be trouble. When he heard Isaac start shouting and then saw him brought down, he knew trouble had arrived.

"Rebecca, run!" he said.

"No! I cannot leave my father!"

He struggled to his feet and pulled her, trying to get her to flee into the forest with him. Once they reached the protection of the woods, there was still a chance that, on foot, they might elude the more encumbered mounted men, but Rebecca resisted him with all her strength.

"No, I cannot abandon him, I tell you! You run, Poignard, and save yourself!"

"Hold!" cried Bois-Guilbert, riding up to them. They were quickly surrounded. "You," he said, pointing to Hooker, "what is your name?"

"I am called Poignard, my lord," said Hooker.

"You are a bondsman. How is it that you travel with this Jew?"

"He has been left with my father as a surety for the repayment of a loan," Rebecca said, "along with some possessions belonging to his master, a Norman fallen on hard times."

"What is your master's name, Poignard?" said Bois-Guilbert.

"Philip of Doncaster, my lord," said Hooker, improvising quickly.

"I do not know him. These three men," he pointed at the corpses, "you killed them?"

"He fought to protect his master's goods, my lord," Rebecca said. "He saved them and the mule which bears them and was wounded in his efforts."

"Your master is fortunate in having such a faithful bondsman," said the Templar. "Take his goods and go. Tell your master that Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert has released him from his obligation."

"Wait, Brian!" called De Bracy. He came riding up to them with two young men beside him. He turned to his and the Templar's squires. "Are you certain this is the man?"

"There is no doubt, milord," said De Bracy's squire. "I recall that scar upon his face."

Bois-Guilbert's squire nodded. "It is the same man," he said. "The white knight's squire."

Bois-Guilbert leaned down, reaching out to the sole remaining mule and ripping away some of the rough cloth that was lashed over the load. The nysteel armor was revealed. He tore away the cloth and there was the shield with the uprooted oak upon it.

"A Norman fallen on hard times, you said?"

Rebecca looked away.

Hooker's heart sank. All he could think of was that vision of himself lying dead upon the ground, his head nearly severed from his shoulders.