said. “Five days to learn why the Ffreinc place such high value on it.”
“Good,” said Mérian. “That is the most sensible thing I have heard since Christmas. But if anyone thinks the sheriff will just let you walk into the castle and hand it over, you best think again.” She regarded us with a high and haughty glance. “Well, does anyone have any idea how to give back what was stolen without getting hung for a thief ? Does anyone have a plan?”
Bran heard the iron in her tone and said, “You are right to remind us of the danger, my lady. And have you conceived such a plan?”
“As it happens,” she answered, her satisfaction manifest, “I have.”
“And will you yet tell us this plan?”
“Gladly,” she answered, lowering her shapely head a little in deference to him. Turning again to those of us gathered around the king’s hearth, she added, “However, I am certain that once you have heard what I have to say, you will contrive an even better banquet on the bare boards I lay before you . . .”
What did she say?” asks Odo. He raises his head and rubs the side of his nose in anticipation.
“That,” I say with a great, gaping yawn, “must wait until tomorrow.”
“Oh!” he whines. “You did that deliberately to spite me.”
“We have talked long, brother monk, and I am tired,” I reply, drawing a hand down my face. “Leave me to my rest.”
“You are a mean and spiteful man, Will Scarlet,” grumps Odo as he gathers up his inkpot and parchment.
I roll onto my side and face the damp stone wall. “Close the door behind you,” I tell him as if already half asleep. “It does get cold down here of a night.”
He hesitates at the door and says, “God with you this night, Will.” He shuffles off and I listen until his slow footfall has died away. Then I am alone in the dark with my thoughts once more.
CHAPTER 24
What did she say?” demands Brother Odo as he bustles breathless into my cell. He is that much like an overgrown puppy—all feet and foolish fervour—it makes me smile.
It seems to me that my dull but amiable scribe is as much a prisoner of Abbot Hugo’s devices as Will Scarlet ever was. Here he sits most days, scribbling away in this dim, dank pit with its mud and mildew, the reek of piss and stagnant water in his nostrils, dutifully fulfilling his office, never complaining. What an odd friendship has grown between us. I wonder what it can hold, yes, and how much it can bear.
“God with you this morning, Odo,” I reply.
He settles himself in his place, the short plank balanced on his knees, and begins paring a new quill. “What did she say?”
“Who?”
“Mérian!” he shrieks, impatience making his soft voice shrill as an old fishwife’s. “You remember—do not pretend otherwise. We were talking about King Raven’s council.”
“Soup and sausages,” I sigh, shaking my head in weary dismay. “Are you certain that’s what we were talking about? I must have slept the memory right out of my head. I have no recollection of it at all.”
“I remember!” he cries. “Lord Bran called a council, and Mérian volunteered a plan she had devised.”
“Yes? Go on,” I urge him. “What next?”
“But that’s all I know,” he cries. He is that close to throwing his inkhorn at me. “That is where you stopped. You must remember what happened next.”
“Peace, Odo,” I say, trying to placate him. “All is not lost. Remind me of what you have written, and we’ll see soon enough if that stirs the pot.”
Odo busies himself with unrolling his scrap of parchment and unstopping his inkhorn.
“Read it out,” I say, as he smoothes the sheepskin beneath his podgy palms. “Perhaps that will help me remember.”
He begins, and I hear once again how he nips and crimps my words, giving them all a monkish cast. He bleeds them dry, and makes them all grey and damp like the greenwood in the grip of November. Still and all, he gets the gist of it, and renders my ramblings rather more agreeable than many would find them.
What his high-nosed infernal majesty Abbot Hugo makes of all this, I cannot say.
“. . . the captive Lady Mérian begged leave to reveal a plan she had made. The rebels fell silent to hear what she would say . . .” He stops here and looks up expectantly. “That is where we ended for the night.”